


YULETIDE TALES 2004: "THE TW(ELF) DAYS OF YULE"

by erestor



Series: YULETIDE TALES [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE: "The Yule Tapestry"

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"What a beautiful evening!"

Lórien took a deep breath of the cold night air. Even for the Valar, Yule was a special time. Was it the excitement radiating from those living on Arda, seeing their happy faces? Or was it the knowledge that, at least for a couple of days, arguments, disagreements and petty squabbles would give way to a general feeling of peace and happiness? Lórien could not tell, but he loved Yule for all these reasons.

And then there was Yavanna's legendary Yule punch, of course.

"Indeed, it is," Vairë answered, not looking up from the tapestry she was working on.

Lórien was just about to close the window when a rather unusual sound reached his ears.

"Now - what was that?" he said, leaning out of the window to hear better. "It sounds like - yelling? Or... can it be laughter?"

Now Vairë looked up, interrupting her art for a moment to listen as well. Indeed - loud laughter could be heard, followed by giggling and cheering.

"Is it coming from the Halls of Waiting?" she asked, and Lórien nodded.

"Ah," she said, returning to her weaving, "then it was Gil-galad." More giggling could be heard, and she added: "With a side order of Amaris."

Lórien shook his head, closed the window and walked over to Vairë, who did not seem at all impressed by the fact that laughter was echoing over the lake.

"The Halls of Waiting are not the place for silliness. The souls are supposed to review their previous lives and consider where they have erred. It is a place of dignity and contemplation."

"My dear, I told you that Amaris would turn the Halls of Waiting into a tavern if you let him have his way."

Lórien shrugged.

"We shall see. I admit that his ways are not mine, but who knows? Sometimes new paths can lead to the desired end as well."

"I shall remind you of your words once Gil-galad has hired the first dancers."

"He would never do such a thing," Lórien protested, then he started when he heard a female shriek. "Or... would he?"

There was a small, rather smug smile on Vairë's lips, and Lórien decided that he did not really want to know the answer to his question after all. He crossed the room to look over her shoulder, admiring the almost-finished tapestry she was working on.

"My, but this is beautiful! What tale does it tell?" he asked, trying to make sense of the various pictures.

"I will tell you if you take a chair and sit by my side, Lórien,” she replied, "for I cannot stand it if somebody looks over my shoulder and breathes in my ear when I am working."

Lórien obeyed, dragging a chair closer and sitting beside her.

"It is a Yule tapestry," she explained, "telling of the remarkable Yule evenings of times past, present and future."

The Master of Dreams scratched his head.

"Your weaving is rather cryptic, my dear. Would you care to tell me these tales? I love Yuletide, and I might find some memories that I cherish."

Vairë thought about it for a moment, then she nodded, turning her work a little so he could see better what she had been weaving. She pointed at the tapestry with her finger.

"See here, Lórien. It starts at the top left corner. In Lothlórien, many thousand years ago, Rúmil was twining holly branches into a garland..."


	2. DAY 1: "Surprises"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"Do you like it, nana?" Rúmil asked, pointing at the holly garland he had fixed above the window. It was lop-sided and some of the red berries had been squashed by the youngster's hands, but Mya did not want to say anything that might make the proud smile on Rúmil's face disappear. It was seldom enough that Rúmil smiled, after all.

"It is wonderful, Rúmil - you have done very well!" she said, stroking his head lovingly. Rúmil felt as if he had grown at least two inches thanks to this compliment, and grinned at his foster mother.

"I will finish the last garland, but we will have to wait for Orophin to hang it up, I am too small. But I can help him."

Mya thought it highly unlikely that her eldest would be home before Rúmil's bedtime, if at all, but miracles sometimes happen, so she nodded and smiled.

"That is a good idea. You can fix it together."

Rúmil returned to the table and began to twine holly branches into another garland. He hummed a tune, a rare occurrence, and Mya sighed happily. It had taken Rúmil years to get to the point where he began to speak again. He had refused to say a single word after he had lost his family, and for over twenty years, Rúmil had not talked to anybody but his dog. Then Orophin had come along, and while half of Lothlórien probably cursed the day of his arrival in the Golden Wood, it had been a blessing for Rúmil, who admired his eldest "brother" greatly. Had Orophin told him to jump off the talan, Rúmil would not have hesitated for an instant.

"Haldir! I told you not to eat the dough!" Mya cried, for her youngest had used the moment she had hung on to her thoughts to stop cutting cookies and start eating the sweet dough instead. He had done it twenty times already, and twenty times had made himself feel sick, but still, he could not resist.

"But it tastes so nice," he murmured, trying to swallow the last bit of dough. Mya shook her head.

"You will get a tummy ache, Haldir," she chided. Haldir tried to look guilty, but at the same time, he eyed the bowl of dough for the chocolate cookies. Maybe his mother would allow him to lick it clean?

Mya had to grin. She could read Haldir's face like an open book, and she was not the only one. Haldir had been only a baby when Lord Celeborn had brought him back from a trip to Breon, and so the little Elf was unaware that he had lost his parents at a very young age. He was a lovable, honest, happy child, liked by everybody.

Unlike Orophin, who usually needed less than a minute to start an argument, make an enemy or insult somebody.

For twenty years he had lived with them, and this last summer, they had celebrated his coming-of-age ceremony. Of course no-one knew how old he really was. Orophin himself guessed that he was 80, so they had decided on the day twenty years after his arrival in the Golden Wood to celebrate his entry into adult life.

While Mya cleaned the dough off Haldir and put the bowl out of his reach, she thought back on these last years. Had it really been twenty years since Amrun had brought the skinny, dirty youngster home? She remembered well how her heart had contracted in pity and anger when she saw the state Orophin was in. It had not been easy - the boy spoke only the language of Men, he trusted nobody, he stole, he lied, and he made Rúmil's life miserable. The only ones spared his sometimes violent outbursts had been Mya herself and Haldir, who had still been a baby back then.

From the very first moment, Orophin had been fiercely protective of the child, despite his frequent declarations that he hated babies more than anything. Mya had been deeply touched when she found that Orophin kept one of Haldir's toys in his "treasure box", and more than once she had surprised him holding the child and talking to him.

Those were the good moments with Orophin, and she had often been forced to recall these in order to cope with the bad moments, for there had been many of those.

The skinny youngster had grown into a fair Elf, learned the language and was skilled in weaponry. But on the inside, Orophin was still the stray from Breon. Mya hoped that he would learn to fit in, now that he had joined the Galadhrim. So far, however, her hopes had been disappointed. And if it had not been for the seemingly endless patience of Calon, Orophin's captain, her son would probably have been expelled from the Galadhrim on the second day, when he had tried to steal a horse.

In short, Orophin did what he wanted, not what he was supposed to do, and he seemed to care little for the consequences of his actions.

"Haldir!"

The noise of the bowl crashing to the ground tore Mya out of her thoughts, for Haldir had tried to dip his fingers in the dough and unfortunately pushed the bowl off the table.

"Now look what you have done," she sighed, pointing to the shards, cookie dough and flour covering the floor like a dirty carpet. Haldir looked guilty, shuffled his feet and chewed his lips.

"I am sorry, nana... I was hungry..." he stammered, and Mya rolled her eyes.

"Come, get out of the way, Haldir, or you will cut yourself on the shards. Rúmil, please get a towel and a bucket from the kitchen."

"Yes, nana," Rúmil replied, and went to fetch what his mother had asked for. Mya ran her hand through her hair and sighed.

To Mordor with Yule!

* * *

Maybe Yule evening was not the perfect moment to begin doubting one's sanity, but when he could not find his favourite bow, Calon began to wonder if his memory was going. He had lost a lot of things lately - his quiver had disappeared for days, just like some of his arrows, and now his favourite bow had gone as well.

Of course, the missing items had turned up again sooner or later, mostly in obvious places, and Calon had been close to banging his head on the wall for not having noticed what he had been looking for in the first place.

The temporary absence of quiver and arrows had not been too upsetting; he possessed plenty of these. But his favourite bow! True, it was almost falling apart, but it was still his favourite, and until it broke, he would use it.

Calon dropped into his chair and filled a goblet with wine. What a day this had been! First the missing bow, and then he had had to separate Orophin and Fenril, who had been at each other's throats over something they had probably forgotten even before the fight had started. Thanks to Calon's intervention, both Galadhrim had left the battleground relatively unharmed, but Fenril's wife would certainly have a thing or two to say about his bloody nose, and Orophin would sit under the Yule tree with a very impressive black eye.

Orophin. Calon sighed, and filled his goblet again. Lord Celeborn had recommended the Elf, and Amrun was a good friend of his, so he had tried everything to break down the wall the young Elf had built around himself, but to no avail. Orophin did make progress, but in very small steps - too small at times for others to notice. The biggest problem, at least in Calon's eyes, was Orophin's unwillingness to make friends. Many admired his archery skills, and more than one of his fellow Galadhrim had noticed that Orophin was very fair, but he kept them all at arm's length.

In spite of all the problems, Calon liked Orophin. He was brave, and would never try to save his own skin at someone else's expense. Calon also admired the grace of Orophin's movements, and more than once he had lost himself in studying the fair face. These were thoughts, however, that Calon would never have shared.

Orophin could sit by the fire, contributing not one word to the conversation, watching the others for hours, and then, all of a sudden, he would lash out. Orophin had a very sharp tongue which usually found its mark, and many found his odd, growling voice eerie. Elves did not growl. So the Galadhrim had begun to call him "The Warg" behind his back.

Calon felt like growling, too. He was miserable. He loved Yule, but his parents and his brothers had sailed west last spring, and so he would be alone on Yule Eve for the first time in his life. Of course, he had received invitations for Yule Eve from almost every family in the neighbourhood, but he had politely declined. Nobody could replace his family.

Just when Calon reached out to fill his goblet a third time to drown his melancholy, a noise from his sleeping chamber caught his attention. He put the bottle down carefully, and listened.

Somebody was in the talan.

Moving slowly, so as not to make any noise, Calon drew his knife from its sheath and got up. He pressed his ear to the bedroom door and could hear breathing - it was only one person. He waited until he heard the other move to stand behind the door, then he threw it open with all his might, knocking the intruder to the floor. With a yell, Calon attacked his enemy, pinning him down and holding the knife to his throat.

He had expected to see a Man or even an Orc, but not two hazel eyes, staring fearfully up at him.

"Orophin?" he gasped, releasing the young Elf, who crawled away from the captain to crouch beside the bed, breathing heavily.

"Orophin! What are you doing here? I could have killed you!" Calon yelled, but Orophin did not answer. Then the captain saw the bag by the young Elf's side, and his heart grew heavy.

"You came here to steal, did you not? Answer, Orophin," he said, getting to his feet. Orophin was only slightly smaller than he was, but now he looked like an Elfling, curled up beside the bed, lips pressed closed and obviously unwilling to answer.

Calon sighed, and shook his head.

"How could you do such a thing?" he said, attempting to open the bag. "Have I not always treated you with respect and tried to help you? I have tried to be your friend, and this is how you thank me! What did you take? I have nothing of value!"

Orophin still didn't answer, instead he tried to hide his face behind his hair. Calon frowned as he reached inside the bag.

"By the Valar - what is this?" He moved to the window to see the object better in the moonlight.

It was his bow. But then again, it was not. It was a copy of his favourite bow, an exact replica. The same weight, the same material, and it felt as good in his hands as the original did. Somebody must have worked for weeks to make this bow. Somebody must have done so in secret, using the old bow as a model.

"Orophin - did you make this bow?" Calon asked, and after a while, the Elf crouching on the floor nodded, still hiding his face. The captain knelt down beside Orophin and pushed the hair out of his face.

He had never seen Orophin like this. The young Elf's usual facial expression was impassive, the only emotion ever displayed was anger, but now it was obvious that Orophin was frightened. 'He could not be more afraid of me if I was a Nazgûl', Calon thought. Gently, he placed his hand on Orophin's shoulder.

"Tell me, Orophin. I am not angry with you. But I want to know what you have done and why you came here."

For a while, there came no answer, then Orophin sat up straight, frowning at Calon. His mask was firmly in place again.

"Had to know what the bow looked like. Quiver and arrows are in the bag. You do not have to take them. I can throw them away. They are ugly, anyway."

Calon looked at the bow again, and finally, he understood.

"Orophin - you went to all this trouble to make me a Yule present?" he asked, and when no answer came from the young Elf, he smiled.

"This is by far the most beautiful present I ever got, Orophin, maybe with exception of the puppy I got from my ada when I was 30. The bow is beautiful, and I thank you very much."

Orophin's eyes became wide again, and he stared at Calon in surprise. 'What did he expect me to do?' the captain thought, 'Throw this wonderful present in his face? What has he been through to expect such treatment?'

"You like it?" Orophin asked, as if this was the most unexpected thing.

"How could I not? This is a present worthy of a king! But tell me, Orophin, why did you make me such a present?"

Again, no answer, only embarrassed silence. Calon shrugged.

"But will you at least tell me why you started a fight with Fenril on Yule Day? That black eye looks very bad - you should let a healer look at it."

Orophin shook his head.

"Fenril said something rude. It does not matter."

"I need to know why my guards try to kill each other instead of Orcs. What was the rude thing he said?"

Orophin growled, then he muttered something which Calon understood to be "something rude about you".

"You started a fight with Fenril because he said something rude about me? Well, that is very kind of you, Orophin, but - why?"

Embarrassed silence - then Orophin began to talk. Quick, short sentences, in the language of Men, so Calon understood only half of it, but what he understood was enough, and he sat back on his heels, overwhelmed by this revelation.

"You - love me?"

Orophin stared at Calon, and he was angry - angry with himself for the things he had just said. Calon had cornered him, and he felt like a complete idiot. Any moment now, Calon would begin to laugh, and within the day, all of Lothlórien would know what a fool he had been. There was still time, though - he could escape through the window, pack his bundle and leave the Golden Wood.

But Orophin did none of these things. Instead he pressed a very brief kiss on Calon's lips, retreating quickly to his corner.

"Orophin..."

Calon broke off.

"You do not care for me," Orophin said, and Calon was taken aback by the calm, detached tone.

"I do care for you," he protested.

"But you do not love me."

Calon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"In years, you are an adult, Orophin, but when it comes to love, you are still young. See - many believe that love resembles a thunderstorm. Two Elves meet, lightning strikes, they fall in love and live happily ever after. I am not saying that this cannot happen. When your father met your mother, he told me the very same night that he knew she was the one he wanted to share his life with. And you know how happy they are."

Orophin nodded, but he looked at Calon suspiciously, not knowing where this conversation was heading.

"But in most cases, love has to grow. It is like a flower, and requires a lot of time to grow and bloom."

Orophin's eyes widened.

"Do you think... could this happen with us?" he asked.

A good question - could this happen?

Calon reached out and cupped Orophin's face, then tilted his head and kissed him. It was obvious that the younger Elf could not have much experience in these matters, but Calon felt immediately that there was a connection between them. It felt right. He could feel how Orophin put his arms around him to pull him closer, was actually clinging to him. Hands were stroking his hair, tiny kisses were covering his face, and words Orophin had probably never spoken in his life before were whispered in his ear.

When they finally parted, Calon pushed some strands of hair out of Orophin's face. The younger Elf did not speak, but the question was still there, in his eyes.

"Yes," Calon finally said, "yes, Orophin, I think this will happen with us."

* * *

Mya was just about to serve the vegetables when the door opened and Orophin entered.

"Orophin!" Rúmil and Haldir cried out in unison. They both jumped up and ran to the door, each of them clinging to one of Orophin's legs.

"I thought you would not come," Rúmil pouted.

"Nana said you would be late," Haldir chimed in. Orophin knelt down, grabbed Haldir under the arms and swung the child around.

"Why, you silly bean! Did you think I would not spend Yule Eve with my family?"

He tickled Haldir, and the Elfling giggled.

"Will you help me fix up the garland after dinner?" Rúmil asked, looking up hopefully to his oldest brother. Orophin set Haldir down carefully, then ruffled Rúmil's hair.

"Of course I will. But first we eat, I am starving."

Rúmil and Haldir dashed back to their seats, and Amrun looked at Orophin questioningly, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline. Mya, however, was happy her eldest had decided to spend this evening with his family and hugged him.

"Sit down, dinner is ready in a moment."

Orophin shuffled his feet.

"Ehr... nana... I have brought someone with me..."

Only now did the family notice the tall figure standing in the doorway.

"Calon! Has anything happened?" Amrun asked, fearing that Orophin might have managed to do something stupid even on Yule Evening.

Orophin gave Calon a shy sidewise glance, then went to stand beside him.

"We are - friends," he said, "and I have invited him to spend Yule Eve with us. I... I hope you do not mind...?"

Mya noticed the blush on Orophin's cheeks and the longing in the look he gave the warrior beside him. But most of all, she noticed his rare smile. And this, she decided, was the best Yule gift she could have wished for.

"Rúmil," she said, "please get an extra plate for our guest."

* * *

_"Ah, young love - well, it is said that Yule is the season of love," Lórien said. "But pray tell, my lady - what might this item be?"_

_The Valie looked at the tapestry from all angles, trying to make sense of Vairë's work._

_"Is it a staff? Ah, yes, it must be a staff! So this is about a Yule Eve with one of the Istari," Lórien finally declared, but Vairë only shook her head._

_"My dear Lórien - it is a carrot."_

_"A - carrot?"_

_Lórien was sure that he had misheard. But Vairë nodded._

_"Indeed, a carrot. It was a beautiful winter day, and Lord Celeborn stood on the balcony of the royal talan..."_


	3. DAY 2: "Size does matter"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"What a truly beautiful sight!"

Celeborn stood on the balcony, arms akimbo, and smiled at his daughter, who was playing with her friends in the clearing close by the Royal Talan. This was the first time in hundreds of years that snow had fallen in the Golden Wood, and now his beloved Lothlórien looked as if somebody had covered it with a soft white silken sheet.

"Indeed," Galadriel replied, as she came to stand beside her husband. White was her colour, and even the fact that the unexpected snow forced her to wear shoes could not diminish her delight. When she saw her daughter, she lifted her hand and waved. The little girl returned the greeting with great enthusiasm.

There were well over twenty children running around, making snowballs, chasing each other, and their laughter filled the air. Celebrían was, as usual, in the thick of the fight, throwing snowballs with alarming speed and almost always ducking in time to avoid being hit herself. Celeborn was close to bursting with fatherly pride, and Galadriel had to grin.

Then she became serious.

"How come the children are without a guardian, Celeborn?"

He patted her hand reassuringly.

"Do not worry, my love. No evil could get this close to the heart of Lothlórien. See? There is Haldir."

Galadriel blinked and shaded her eyes against the sun which was reflected almost painfully brightly by the snow.

"Is he the little one chasing after Celion?" she asked, but Celeborn shook his head.

"No, he is the one who just got a snowball in his face and is now sulking."

"Ah yes, I see. But pray tell, Celeborn, how does the presence of the Elfling Haldir signify safety for the children?"

Celeborn pointed at a large Mallorn tree, whose branches threw their shadows on the clearing.

"Where there is Haldir, there is Orophin as well. He will be sitting in that tree over there, ready to swoop down like an angry eagle if anybody should dare to approach without his permission. And there is Rúmil as well. He is still young, but very alert. One day, he will be a fine Galadhel."

Celeborn was right. For a brief moment, the leaves of the Mallorn tree rustled, and Galadriel caught a glimpse of a black booted foot. And indeed, Rúmil was already standing beside Haldir, wiping the snow from his young brother's face. Celebrían, never one to waste a good opportunity for a shot, hit the back of Rúmil's head with a snowball, and then ran away, laughing loudly. Rúmil pretended to be very upset, and chased after her, careful not to catch up with her, leaving her the illusion of victory.

"Shall we go and join them?" Galadriel asked, "it is such a beautiful day, I would love to go for a little walk."

"But of course, my love! Let me get your cloak."

Within minutes, the royal pair stepped down the large flight of stairs, holding hands and exchanging smiles and loving glances. While Celeborn was known for not turning the other way when a beautiful lady or a handsome Elf would pass, there could be no doubt who owned his heart. And since the birth of their daughter, Celebrían, the lord of the Golden Wood had two females to worship.

For a while, Celeborn and Galadriel stood under the large Mallorn tree, watching the children playing in the clearing. The loud voice of their daughter could be heard often.

"She is quite a wild child," Galadriel remarked, "I hope she will calm down in time, or I shall pity her husband."

Celeborn grinned.

"Never pity a husband for having a fiery wife," he said, putting his arm around Galadriel's waist and kissing her on the neck. "I, for one, do appreciate the advantages of your temper."

Galadriel blushed, pushing him away in mock outrage.

"You are impossible," she snorted, and he bowed.

"Thank you for the compliment, my lady. I try my best. Do not worry for Celebrían's future husband, though. I have every intention of scaring off any suitor until she is at least four or five thousand years old."

His wife elbowed him, then she rolled her eyes.

"Knowing our daughter, you will not have much say in this matter, my dear husband. She is the kind of lady who will drag her chosen beloved back to her talan by his braids, mark my words."

Both Elves snickered, then they saw that an Elf approached them.

"My lord, my lady," Rúmil said, and bowed deeply. When Galadriel smiled at him, Rúmil blushed beet red, a most unwelcome but lately rather frequent occurrence. Galadriel saw it and remembered her own youth, so she pretended not to notice and gave the nervous, gangly youth her brightest smile.

"Well met, Rúmil. Thank you for looking after the children. Have your lessons ended early?"

Rúmil shuffled his feet, kicking snow from one side to the other and biting his lip.

"There are no lessons today, my lady. The barracks are snowed in, and our teachers are busy digging the doors and windows free. It was quite a storm last night. I am here to keep an eye on Haldir and the other children, and of course on the lady Celebrían."

"For this purpose, you would need an extra set of eyes on the back of your head, young one, for right this very moment, she is stuffing snow down your brother's tunic."

Rúmil spun around, and indeed: Haldir lay flat in the snow, howling and crying, and Celebrían sat triumphantly on his back, shovelling snow down the back of his tunic with her hands.

Rúmil groaned.

"My apologies, I have to return. One cannot leave these children unattended even for a minute!"

With that, he ran back to the crime scene and separated Celebrían from Haldir. Then he pulled his brother out of the snow, and wiped Haldir's nose with his sleeve.

Celeborn's laughter echoed over the clearing, then Galadriel pulled on his sleeve.

"What are they doing over there?" she asked, and pointed at three Galadhrim who were building a snow sculpture.

Celeborn turned his head, watched the three for a while, then he grinned.

"They are building a snow Elf," he explained. "See? They just finished the head. Come, we shall go and see what it looks like."

The two crossed the clearing, and were greeted respectfully by the Galadhrim. One was just about to form leaf-shaped ears for the snow Elf, another pressed pebbles from the river into the "face" of the snow Elf, forming a smiling mouth. Last came a large carrot for a nose, and the three stood proudly in front of their work.

"Is he not a beauty?" the first one said, and the other two nodded. Celeborn wanted to say something, but then he heard the signal from the barracks, calling the Galadhrim. The three dropped all they held, bowed to the lord and the lady, than hastened back to their captain, probably to shovel snow for another hour or two.

Galadriel and Celeborn were now alone with the snow Elf, and eyed it curiously.

"Is this a male or a female snow Elf?" Galadriel asked. Celeborn rolled his eyes.

"A male, of course! Look at his figure - he is a seasoned and experienced warrior. I guess this is supposed to be a tribute to myself. Just look how broad his shoulders are!"

Galadriel snorted.

"You think this is supposed to be you? Well, I am most sorry to say this, my dear husband, but I do not see broad shoulders on this - sculpture. But I must say that he looks rather well-fed, so, indeed: the likeness is amazing!"

Celeborn growled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, maybe I am wrong, and it is actually a snow Elf lady. In that case, I guess it is that Orc of a nanny who locks away my Miruvor bottles."

Galadriel giggled.

"It is difficult to tell with snow Elves, is it not? I mean, they are not anatomically correct."

"Ha! That can be changed," Celeborn declared, and before his wife could stop him, he was kneeling in the snow to equip the snow Elf with all the attributes that would identify him as a member of the male gender. When he was finished, Celeborn got up, brushed the snow off his breeches and smiled proudly at his wife.

"So - even you can see now that this is a perfect representation of myself."

Galadriel eyed the enhanced snow Elf doubtfully, then she gave her husband a sidewise glance.

"I do not know, my dear husband - are you not maybe being a little bit optimistic here?"

She bent down and took a handful of snow away from where Celeborn, at least in her opinion, had added too much, and stood back to examine her work.

"There, much better," she said cheerfully, ignoring her husband's pout, "this is far more realistic."

"You have made me a eunuch, Galadriel," Celeborn whined, "what will the neighbours say when they see this?"

"They will say that we have too much time on our hands. Come, we should return, there is a lot of work waiting for us."

Celeborn sighed, and threw a sad look at the snow Elf, whose face seemed to express regret over the resizing as well. But his wife was right, there was a lot of work waiting, and so he followed her back to the Royal Talan.

In the branches of the tree above, Orophin's longing gaze followed Lord Celeborn. He fought the temptation to throw a snow ball at the lady of the Golden Wood, but then he had a much better idea.

* * *  
"What in the name of the Valar is this?" Galadriel cried, and gestured wildly.

"What has happened, my dear?" Celeborn, who had just slipped into his nightshirt when he had heard his wife's outraged cry, asked.

"Look at this! Can you explain this to me?" she hissed, pointing in direction of the clearing, where the snow Elf stood. Celeborn stepped beside her, and did as he was told.

He looked. He blinked. He looked again. Then he broke into loud, roaring laughter, which did not really help to lighten his wife’s mood.

"This is not funny!" Galadriel snapped, stomping her foot. "This is - I mean, Celeborn! Think of the children!"

"Ah, Galadriel, I am sure they have all seen a carrot before," Celeborn replied lightly, "though, agreed, not a carrot of such remarkable size."

Galadriel did not answer, but slammed the balcony door shut, slipped into the bed and pulled the covers over her head, pretending to be fast asleep by the time Celeborn joined her.

The Elf lord lay awake for quite a while, a big grin on his face. A grin almost as big as the additional carrot on the snow Elf.

Almost.

* * *  
In the morning, Celeborn was woken by his wife's singing. It was rare to see Galadriel in such a cheerful mood so early in the day, for she was not a morning person. Celeborn yawned and stretched, then he got up.

"Good morning, my love," he said, and kissed his wife on the cheek, "did you sleep well?"

"Excellently, my dear Celeborn, excellently! Indeed, is this not a most beautiful morning?"

Celeborn, who had been on his way to the bathroom, halted his steps, and eyed his wife suspiciously.

"Not that I mind seeing you in such a cheerful mood, dear Galadriel, but what is the reason? I remember you were rather grumpy last night."

Galadriel smiled innocently, then she opened the balcony door and beckoned her husband to join her.

"Now look at this beautiful sight, Celeborn - who could not sing and laugh on such a wonderful morning?"

She turned around, humming a merry tune, and left her husband on the balcony to appreciate the sight - the sight of the snow Elf, berobbed of his carrot, but now sporting two appendages the size of watermelons on his torso. His? Hers!

"Galadriel! The snow Elf has breasts!" Celeborn cried, and Galadriel giggled.

"Snow Elf? What snow Elf? Oh - are you talking about the snow goddess on the clearing? Lovely is she not? And mark the crown of holly on her head! An artists work, no doubt!"

Celeborn howled, and this time, it was he who did the slamming of the door.

Underneath the balcony, Rúmil had followed this conversation, and when he heard Galadriel sing, he felt like singing, too, and he might even do it on his way home.

But first he took a huge bite of carrot.

* * *

_"Ah, Celeborn is an Elf after my own heart!" Lórien grinned, slapping Vairë cheerfully on the back. The fair being almost toppled over. She glared at him disapprovingly._

_"I have no doubt about that. You have a lot in common."_

_Lórien decided to ignore Vairë's sarcasm and looked over her shoulder, studying the tapestry._

_"This is intriguing - is this an event which has yet come to pass?"_

_"No. This happened many, many centuries ago. It was Yule Eve, and Lord Elrond sat alone in front of the fireplace in his chamber..."_


	4. DAY 3: "Where there is a will..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

It was, by far, the most miserable Yule evening ever, Elrond decided, drawing the woollen blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. Yes, that first Yule after Celebrían's death had been terrible, too. But the twins had been young, too young to understand the loss, and their cheerful laughter had chased some of the darkest shadows away.

Today, however, no toddlers were chasing each other around the Yule tree, no laughter could be heard in the corridors, and Elladan and Elrohir had grown up long ago. They were spending this Yule in Lothlórien, at the invitation of their grandparents, and of course there had been no way to refuse this invitation. By now, they would be sitting in front of the fire with their sister, Arwen, surrounded by family and friends. Erestor had accompanied them, as well as Lindir. As a consequence, Elrond sat in front of the fire, surrounded by nothing but misery.

This room had once been a place of laughter and love; he and his family had gathered in front of the fire, the children had talked about their day and Celebrían had read to them. Now his late wife was looking down from a life-sized portrait over the fireplace, while another painting, showing Gil-galad in full armour, reminded him of the first great love of his life.

"I am living in a mausoleum," Elrond sighed, and considered going to bed. He would slip between the sheets, pull the covers over his head and, he hoped, sleep until Yule was over.

Elrond's gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the sound of riders arriving in the courtyard. Quickly he got up. How odd - who would come to visit at this untimely hour, and on this day? He stepped to the window and looked out.

'Glorfindel?'

The warrior had been out on patrol, and was not expected to return before the end of the week.

The mystery was resolved when Elrond saw that Glorfindel did not dismount from Asfaloth by himself, but was lifted off the horse by his warriors.

'He is injured!'

His melancholy was forgotten; his old friend was hurt and needed help. Elrond rushed out of the door and down the stairs, taking three steps in one stride, and soon caught up with the small group of warriors supporting Glorfindel on his way to the healing house.

"What has happened?" Elrond asked worriedly.

"Lord Glorfindel has..." one Elf began, but Glorfindel cut him off.

"Lord Glorfindel has done nothing that would be of concern to anybody but Lord Glorfindel himself," he hissed through clenched teeth, "and unless it is your wish to count Orcs in Mirkwood for the next decade, you had better concentrate on helping me up these stairs."

Elrond arched an eyebrow, and his curiosity was piqued. Glorfindel, despite limping and showing some bruises on his face, seemed to be in good spirits, and a little voice in Elrond's head told him that his old friend's injuries had not been caused by some sinister enemy, but by foolishness on Glorfindel's part.

The Elves helped Glorfindel up the stairs to the House of Healing, which was not easy, for Glorfindel was heavy, tall as he was. However, finally the warrior was inside, and his soldiers placed him on one of the empty beds.

"Thank you. And now leave, your families are waiting," Glorfindel ordered, but his soldiers looked doubtful.

"My lord, are you sure you will not need our assistance?" one asked, but Glorfindel shook his head.

"Nonsense. Lord Elrond will look after this scratch, and in a few minutes, I will be as good as new. Out now, you lot. I need no audience when I drop my breeches, though I understand that you will be greatly disappointed to miss this spectacular sight."

Despite their concern, the Elves had to snicker and bid their farewells, wishing the lords a merry Yule evening as they left.

Elrond reached for a bag Glorfindel was holding, for it was in the way, but the warrior pulled it quickly away.

"My bag. Get your own if you need one," he grumbled, and Elrond rolled his eyes.

"May I ask what has caused this incident as well as your foul mood? It is not like you to be grumpy on Yule evening."

"No, you may not ask. Now, please, look after this scratch and then I will retire to my rooms."

Elrond knew that it was a waste of time to argue with Glorfindel when he was in such a mood, so he took Glorfindel's boot off, carefully, so as not to hurt his friend, and then cut the leg of his breeches open. A long cut was revealed, encrusted with dried blood, and surrounded by bruises. There were also bruises on Glorfindel's left hip, hand and forearm.

"Now how did you manage this?" Elrond asked, while he went to fetch some water to clean the wound, "This looks as if you had fallen from a tree!"

"So what - is this any of your concern?" Glorfindel barked, and Elrond rolled his eyes, cleaning the wounds a little less gently than he would usually have done. Glofindel winced.

"Well, my dear friend, as a healer, I need to know how my patients got their injuries. And as your friend, I would not want to miss out on any detail if you, the great Glorfindel of Gondolin, had indeed fallen out of a tree."

"Some friend you are!" Glorfindel glared at Elrond, and for a while, both Elves were silent. After Elrond had cleaned the wounds, which were really only superficial, he carefully covered them with ointment and, where needed, applied a bandage.

Glorfindel admired once again how gently and carefully Elrond worked. He had seen these hands wield swords and knives, had seen them close around Orc-necks and end the enemies' lives. And yet, he could barely feel the touch of Elrond's fingers while he tended the wounds.

"Enough, Elrond - you wrap me up like a Yule present!" Glorfindel finally complained, and Elrond gave him a sly look.

"Then you should not complain. For certainly, there will be someone willing to unwrap you."

The warrior groaned, but then he had to grin.

"You know me all too well, Elrond. But no matter how tempting the thought, I doubt our dear Erestor would accept the gift. Has he gone to bed already?"

Elrond shook his head.

"Erestor is not here, Glorfindel. He decided at short notice to join the children and spend Yule in Lothlórien."

Glorfindel dropped back on the bed, covering his face with his hands.

"I cannot believe it! Why did he do this? He never spends Yule in Lothlórien! Now it was all in vain!"

"In vain? I do not understand..."

Glorfindel groaned, then handed the bag to Elrond. With a rather puzzled expression, the Lord of Imladris opened the bag and looked into it. He stared for a while, looked at Glorfindel, then back at the contents.

He cleared his throat.

"Mistletoe, Glorfindel?"

The warrior nodded.

"So you climbed a tree to cut mistletoe and fell down, is that what happened, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel sat up; he looked very disappointed and also embarrassed, an impression that was supported by a slight blush on his cheeks. He sighed, and finally nodded.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Lord Glorfindel climbed a tree to cut mistletoe, fell from the tree and made a complete fool of himself. I thought this would be a way to kiss Erestor without getting my teeth knocked out. Go and herald it to the world, Elrond, that the Balrog slayer is nothing but a sentimental fool. Give them something to laugh about from here to Lothlórien."

Elrond shook his head, then he sat on the bed beside his old friend, careful not to touch Glorfindel's bandaged wounds.

"I remember somebody who took the risk of riding alone at night over a plain where 200 Orcs camped, just to get his lover, who was young and a hopeless romantic back then, a toffee apple for his begetting day, breaking his arm in the process. Compared to this, falling off a tree while cutting mistletoe seems quite reasonable."

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow.

"Toffee apple? What is that? I have never heard of such a thing."

Elrond scratched his head and wrinkled his nose, which made the stern lord of Imladris look very young all of a sudden.

"For all I know, it is something the folk from the Shire invented. You need an apple and an arrow. And sugar. A lot of sugar! It is melted in a shallow pan, constantly stirred, until it caramelises. Then you pierce the apple with the arrow and roll it in the sugar until it is covered. You let it cool off, then you eat it. It is - delicious."

Glorfindel saw the dreamy expression on Elrond's face, and he had to grin.

"I suppose I am correct in my assumption that the courageous Orc-challenger in the name of love and toffee apples was a certain High King we both know?" he asked, and was rewarded with a flustered and blushing Elrond, which was, indeed, a very rare sight.

"Your assumption is correct, my friend."

Elrond lowered his eyes.

"I miss him."

Glorfindel put his hand on Elrond's arm and gently pressed it.

"I know, Elrond. Sometimes I think we never miss our loved ones more than at this time of the year. Sitting in the healing house does not really improve my mood, to be honest. Help me to get up, and we shall share a glass of mulled wine. What do you think?"

Elrond gave Glorfindel a sidewise glance.

"I think that you are far too wise for the fool you pretend to be, Glorfindel. Mulled wine sounds good."

Elrond helped Glorfindel to get up, and then the two made their way back to the Last Homely House. When they crossed the courtyard, something soft and wet landed on Glorfindel's face. He halted, and looked up to the night sky.

"It is snowing!"

There was a child-like excitement in his face, and Elrond had to smile.

"This means I have to get you inside before you begin trying to catch snowflakes with your tongue. Come, we are almost there."

"Spoil sport," Glorfindel muttered, but he continued to limp towards his home, leaning heavily on Elrond.

Once inside, Elrond helped the injured warrior up the stairs, but halfway up, Glorfindel stopped again.

"My chambers are to the right, Elrond."

"I know," Elrond replied, "but I do not want to carry you to the third floor, and I think I should keep an eye on your injuries. They look harmless enough, but still they could become infected. So you will stay in my chambers tonight."

Glorfindel didn't protest - he was grateful that he would not have to climb two further flights of stairs, for his leg was hurting, he was tired, and the prospect of having Elrond wait on him for a change was rather tempting. Soon enough, they arrived in Elrond's chambers. The lord helped Glorfindel to sit down on his bed, then he removed Glorfindel's remaining boot.

"So, and now lie down while I arrange for some food and drink," Elrond said, and left for the kitchen. It was Yule - almost all the servants were with their families, and Elrond did not have the heart to call them away from their loved ones.

While Elrond was gone, Glorfindel looked around the room. He had seen it a thousand times, but somehow it looked different today. In many ways, Elrond's chambers reminded him of Erestor's. Books, books, and then some more books. And where there were no books, there were scrolls. The desk was covered with papers, notes; a quill lay on a half-finished document, probably a letter.

"What are you musing about?"

Elrond, who had returned in the meantime, interrupted Glorfindel's train of thought. He was carrying a tray of food, which he put on the side table. Glorfindel sat up, resting against the headboard.

"I was just thinking how similar your chamber is to Erestor's," the warrior replied, reaching for an apple.

"We both love the written word, that is true. Though there are many differences between us."

"True" Glorfindel answered, "the main difference being that I will probably never get to rest in his bed."

Elrond frowned.

"I would think that the reasons for resting in our respective beds would be quite different, Glorfindel."

The warrior noticed well the icy undertone, but chose to ignore it.

"True again, but do not blame this fact on me, Elrond. I am not the one with the morals and standards."

"By your words, one could think that morals and standards held no value for you," Elrond snapped.

"I value these things very highly, Elrond, but there is more to life than principles. Did you not mention mulled wine?"

Elrond opened his mouth for a proper reply, but then he got up and went over to the fireplace. He filled the ladle with wine, and held it briefly over the fire. Then he poured the warmed liquid into two goblets and returned to Glorfindel's bedside.

"Thank you," Glorfindel said, and took a sip of the wine. "Ah, wonderful! An excellent wine, and exactly what I needed. The best pain remedy. Why have you never taken a lover, Elrond?"

The dark-haired Elf, taken aback by both the question itself and the casual tone in which it had been asked, glared at the warrior.

"Glorfindel. You know very well that I am married."

Glorfindel took another sip of wine, then he shook his head.

"You were married, Elrond. But she has left us. She set you free and decided that life held no joy for her anymore."

Elrond stared into his goblet.

"I loved her very much, Glorfindel. I cannot replace her."

Glorfindel reached out and touched Elrond's arm.

"Our kind is not made to be lonely, Elrond. It is not what the Valar intended for us. Do you never crave a loving touch? Do you never long for an embrace? To be held and comforted?"

Elrond shifted. This conversation made him feel uncomfortable, and Glorfindel's last words brought the all-consuming, terrifying loneliness of this evening forcefully back. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

"Of course I do," he replied, his voice full of resignation, "but there is nobody... nobody whom I love."

Glorfindel nodded.

"I do not mean that you should go and marry the nearest chambermaid or chief advisor. Especially not the latter, because I intend to marry him. But you could still find some comfort. Have you never thought of this?"

Elrond groaned.

"I am not you, Glorfindel. I could never bring myself to approach somebody and - ask for this."

The warrior grinned.

"If that is the only problem here, you can be helped."

Glorfindel put the goblet on the side table, moved to the right side of the bed, pulled the cover back and patted the empty side invitingly. Then he began to undress.

"What do you mean by this?" Elrond asked, confused by Glorfindel's odd behaviour.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes, and threw his shirt on a chair.

"It means that you should get out of these robes and into this bed, Elrond."

For a moment, Elrond sat in shock, then he jumped up, almost throwing the table over in the process.

"Glorfindel! Have you lost your mind?" he cried, staring at his old friend, who had obviously gone crazy. However, Glorfindel only shrugged.

"Elrond. Stop behaving as if I had offered you to buy your firstborn. Do you find me so revolting, that my offer shocks you thus?"

Elrond briefly wondered whether somebody had poisoned the wine, but then he looked into Glorfindel's eyes, and saw that the warrior was sincere. Elrond's shoulders drooped, and he looked very tired all of a sudden.

"I - I really appreciate your offer, and of course I do not find you revolting. You are very fair, but - I do not love you, Glorfindel. Not - this way."

Glorfindel smiled. It was the same smile he used to give the children when they were particularly slow at understanding a very simple matter, and Elrond felt rather stupid.

"My dear friend, of course you do not love me as you loved Gil-galad or your wife. I do not love you the same way I love Erestor, either. But Erestor has not yet realised that we are made for each other, and no suitable mate has been found for you so far. So give me one good reason why we should not spend this night together."

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You are insane," he said.

"No," Glorfindel answered, "I am lonely."

Elrond blew out the candles on the large chandelier. The only light in the room came from the fire, which was slowly dying down.

"I am sorry, my friend. I really am," he said, then he turned around and headed for the door.

"So am I," Glorfindel whispered, but Elrond had already left.

* * *

It was deep in the night when Glorfindel awoke, and the fire had long since gone out. He did not feel cold, though, thanks to the heavy cover and, he noticed with great surprise, Elrond's warm body next to his.

"Have you changed your mind?" he asked, and Elrond shrugged. There was a doubtful look in his grey eyes, and he frowned.

"In a way."

"Aha."

For a while, they just lay there, facing each other, neither of them daring to move.

"So?" Glorfindel asked, wriggling his eyebrows expectantly.

Elrond sighed, then reached out, pulling Glorfindel close and kissing him. It was an awkward kiss. It was a short kiss. It was, without a doubt, one of the worst kisses Glorfindel had ever received.

"This is not working," Glorfindel said. Elrond lifted the cover and looked down at their bodies, then he shook his head.

"No. Not at all."

He sighed again.

"I am sorry, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel pushed a wayward strand of hair out of Elrond's face, and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead.

"Do not be. It was an idiotic idea to begin with, and as usual, it was mine. Now come here."

He took Elrond in his arms, making sure the lord's head came to rest on his shoulder. Elrond snuggled closer.

"This is nice," he said after a while, and Glorfindel, who was gently stroking his back, nodded.

"Very nice."

"Will you stay here?"

"I would love to."

Elrond sighed again, this time happily, and buried his face in Glorfindel's neck. Outside, the snow was falling in thick flakes and a cold wind was howling, but in Elrond's chambers, it was warm, and for once, Elrond felt this warmth even in his heart.

* * *

_Lórien looked disappointed._

_"I prefer happy endings," he said, "is there at least hope for some love in Elrond's future?"_

_"Of course there is. I finished the tapestry telling the tale of Elrond's happiness only last week. See? It is over there."_

_Lórien turned around. For a while, he said nothing, then he laughed and rubbed his hands._

_"Excellent! Whose idea was this?"_

_Vairë continued to work on her Yule tapestry._

_"Námo. Who else would have such odd ideas?"_

_"Me."_

_"Now how could I forget that... now, do you wish to continue your contemplations on Lord Elrond's love life or would you prefer to hear more about the beginning of a great love?"_

_Lórien quickly returned to her side._

_"How can you ask, my dear! You know that I am a romantic at heart. Please, continue."_

_Vairë pointed at her tapestry._

_"Very well then. Gimli the Dwarf sat by the fire in one of Imladris' guest chambers..."_


	5. DAY 4: "Velvet and Gold"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Gimli shuddered, despite the cosy fire he sat by, when the door opened and a blast of cold winter air blew into the hall.

The Dwarf immediately knew who it was that had entered, wrapped in a heavy cloak and accompanied by a servant who had shown him the way.

"Legolas! Laddie! What a sight for my old sore eyes!" the Dwarf boomed, jumping up and stepping carefully over his eldest son and his daughter who were playing on the hearth rug in front of his seat.

"Gimli! Old friend!"

Legolas, his face flushed from the warmth, took off his cloak and handed it to the servant, who left to take the garment to the Mirkwood Elf's guest chamber. Legolas ran his hands through his hair, and gave his old friend and brother-in-arms a big smile.

Gimli quickly crossed the room, and hugged the Elf around the waist, squeezing him tight. Legolas bent down and returned the embrace, his joy at the reunion obvious on his face.

"Here, laddie, come and sit with me by the fire, until you can meet Lord Elrond."

Legolas, tired from the long journey, gladly accepted the offer. He went to the chair opposite Gimli's, careful not to step on the two Dwarflings who were so involved in their play that they didn't even look up at the new arrival.

"Did you get in a fight on your way here?" Gimli asked, and pointed at Legolas' torn sleeve. The Mirkwood Elf shook his head, and pulled on the small piece of fabric. When it finally tore off, he put it on the armrest to have it sewn back on later on.

"No, I got caught on a nail in the stables and tore it off," he replied.

"You are still grace personified, I see," Gimli said, grinning smugly, but Legolas was too tired to take the bait.

"Aaah… there is nothing like a comfortable chair in front of a warm fire," the Elf sighed, snuggling deeper into the comfortable chair.

"And the company of an old friend," the Dwarf added, putting his glass aside. Then he got up and filled one for Legolas from the kettle which was steaming peacefully over the fire.

The Elf sniffed.

"Mulled wine - just what I need to unfreeze the tip of my nose!"

Legolas stretched his long legs, then gave the Dwarf a smug grin.

"Remember our little drinking contest, back in Rohan?"

Gimli winced, but the Elf could not tell whether this was due to the memory of the hangover from Mordor the Dwarf had suffered from after that event, or if the pain was caused by Gimli's son who had used a moment of inattentiveness on his father's part to pull forcefully on his beard.

"Children are such a pleasure to have around," Legolas remarked dryly, and took another sip of wine. "It is a good thing Elves do not grow beards, though. The risk of injury is much lower that way."

Gimli ruffled the Dwarfling's hair.

"You've got braids, my lad, so better not raise your hopes of surviving parenthood unscathed."

Legolas laughed.

"Gimli, I am not even married yet, and already you discuss my children!"

The Dwarf winked at the Elf.

"Oh, they come quicker than you might think. I expect to see you and your wife here at Yuletide two years from now, sitting in front of the fire with your firstborn! Has your father recovered from his shock, by the way? It's said that his yelling could be heard even in Lothlórien when he learned the big news."

The Elf chuckled, and rolled his eyes.

"My father's bark is worse than his bite. It is true, though, that he did not break into joyful song when I announced that I intend to marry Erduil's daughter."

"He is the head of the clan of Northern Mirkwood, isn't he? Not a friend of your father, I remember."

Now Legolas had to laugh. He looked so young, Gimli thought, though he was over 3000 years old. Elves were miracles. And some of them had a decidedly mischievous nature.

"My father threatened that he would knit a warm hat for his head out of Erduil's braids if his daughter should dare to talk to me. Then Erduil let my ada know that in his part of Mirkwood, caves were there to store potatoes, not kings. They enjoy their mutual dislike greatly, and our marriage will give them countless hours of entertainment."

The two friends laughed, and the Dwarflings, though they had no idea what the grown-ups were laughing about, joined in. For a while, all four sat in companionable silence, then a noise at the door caught their attention.

Legolas looked up, and saw that the door had opened a tiny bit, but oddly, nobody seemed to wish to enter and join them.

"Please come in and join us by the fire," the Wood Elf said. The door opened a little more, but still, nobody entered. However, Legolas' ears picked up the sound of nervous breathing.

Gimli chuckled. He turned around, and said: "Come in, lad, your uncle Gimli is here, and a friend of mine. I'd like you to meet him. Just come right in, there's nothing to fear here."

Legolas arched an eyebrow, but Gimli didn't answer, just shook his head and smiled.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the door was pushed open slowly, and an Elf-child slipped in. It was a boy, maybe 30 years of age, long-boned and clad in soft brown leather leggings and a brown, woollen tunic. The narrow face was dominated by large brown eyes, and the black hair was neatly caught in a single braid, which hung over his shoulder. The boy was currently playing with the clasp on this braid, not sure of how to proceed, or whether it was safe to get closer to the visitor.

Gimli beckoned him to approach, smiling gently.

"Don't be afraid, little one. Look, this is Legolas, the Elf with the bad aim I've told you about."

Legolas wanted to protest, but when he saw the expression of excitement on the child's face, he decided that he could tie a knot in Gimli's beard once the young one had departed. The child came to stand beside the Dwarf, but he stared at Legolas as if he had been hypnotized.

The Mirkwood Elf felt a little uncomfortable under the child's scrutinizing look. The boy looked neat and clean, whereas he himself wore a jerkin of emerald velvet; an exquisite garment, but like the rest of him covered in the grime of a long journey.

"Legolas, I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine: this is Estorel, the firstborn of our dear friends Erestor and Glorfindel."

Now it was Legolas' turn to stare. So this was the little Elf all of Arda spoke about! He still did not really understand how it had been possible for the two Elves to have this child, and certainly had no wish to hear any further details.

Estorel came closer, and then, very carefully and shyly, he reached out and stroked the soft piece of velvet on the armrest of Legolas' chair. He looked up at the Mirkwood Elf.

"My ada has golden hair too," he said.

"Has he?" Legolas asked, rather unintelligently.

Estorel nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes. But his is neatly kempt and braided, and he has no twigs sticking in it."

"Out of the mouth of babes..." Gimli snickered, and Legolas glared at him.

"So you are a real prince then?" Estorel continued his interrogation. Legolas shook his head.

"No, I am not a prince, penneth."

"But your ada is a king," Estorel stated, "then you must be a prince."

Legolas scratched his head, and while he was at it, discreetly removed a twig which, indeed, had tangled in his hair.

"Well yes, my ada is a king, but this does not make me a prince. It is complicated. I will explain it to you once you are grown up."

Estorel shuffled his feet and frowned.

"That is what all grown-ups tell me, every time I ask something."

"Then you should not ask things which are not the concern of an Elfling," Legolas replied, slightly desperate.

"Why not?"

"Because you are keeping our guest from taking a well-deserved rest after his long journey, son," Erestor's voice could be heard behind them. The advisor had entered and followed the conversation with silent amusement. However, he did not want to expose Legolas to further inquiries about his somewhat complicated family life and status in Mirkwood, so he decided to come to the Woodland Elf's rescue.

"Sia, look, he has golden hair, like ada! But he does not comb it!" Estorel cheerfully announced, and Legolas tried to hide in the depths of the chair.

"I am sure he does, Estorel, and it is not polite to annoy a guest in such a way. Why do you not go to the kitchen? Mauburz has just taken the cookies out of the oven, and if you ask her, she will certainly share them with you. Your brother helped her to make them."

Estorel's face lit up.

"Thank you, Sia!" The boy stroked the fabric one last time. "Can I have it, please?" he asked, his eyes full of hope, and Legolas, trusting that a positive answer would speed up the boy’s departure, nodded.

"If it makes you happy..."

"Thank you!"

Estorel took the piece of velvet, and showed his new possession proudly to Erestor.

"Look, Sia - the beautiful Elf is all soft!"

Then he dashed out of the door, and shut it with a loud 'bang', which made Erestor wince.

"Looks like you got yourself another admirer, laddie," Gimli grinned, "you soft, beautiful Elf, you."

"One more word, and this soft Elf here will hang you out to dry by your beard," Legolas growled.

Erestor bowed, but he had a smile on his face as well, and his eyes sparkled with mirth.

"My apologies - my son tends to speak whatever comes to his mind, he certainly had no intention of insulting you. He is very fascinated by velvet, and with the exception of his brother, uncle and father, he has not seen a golden-haired Elf yet. So naturally, your appearance made a great impression on him."

Legolas shook his head.

"I am not insulted, Master Erestor. From all my ada told me, I used to embarrass visitors regularly with my questions when I was an Elfling. This is overdue punishment for my evil deeds, I suppose."

"Your chambers are ready. When you wish to rest and refresh yourself, one of the servants will show you the way. I have a meeting in five minutes, so unfortunately I cannot keep you company, but I hope we will find some time for talk during your stay. I am very curious to hear how things fare in Mirkwood."

Legolas nodded.

"We definitely will, Master Erestor, I have some messages from my ada, anyway, which need to be discussed with Lord Elrond. I would also like to extend my gratitude for inviting me to attend the Yule festivities in Imladris."

Erestor nodded, bowed first to Gimli, then to Legolas, and left the room to return to his duties.

Legolas took another swig of the mulled wine, which, by now, had cooled down.

"There is nothing of a female about him," he finally said, "and yet, he has borne a child. This is very confusing."

Gimli thought about it for a moment, then he shook his head.

"I wouldn't call it confusing, laddie. Rather a miracle. And isn't anything that brings life a good thing?"

Legolas thought back on the many battles he had fought, the friends and the family he had lost, and he sighed.

"I guess you are right, my dear friend. Giving life is, in any case, better than taking it. I hold Master Erestor in very high regard. It is only that I cannot understand all this. I am nothing but a simple archer, Gimli, as you well know. I have not studied the sciences or read a lot of books like my ada and my uncle. Most of our warriors are better educated than me. I am a simple Elf, and I need simple answers."

Gimli smiled in his beard, and after a moment of contemplation, Legolas added:

"I am a simple Elf. But I am beautiful and soft. So I shall not complain. And now I would really like more of this mulled wine, dear Gimli."

* * *

The box had been carved by Orophin for Estorel to keep his little treasures in - a present on his last begetting day. The child kept it hidden under his bed, and while the contents of this box might have looked like a collection of junk to others, it was worth more than gold to Estorel. Dried autumn leaves. Pebbles from the Bruinen. Chestnuts. A hairclip. Raven feathers and a Warg tooth Rabbit had given him. A book of colourful pictures from Lindir. Things of great importance and value for the child.

Estorel carefully put the small piece of emerald velvet in the box. He held it softly, as if it was a fragile thing like a butterfly, then he closed the lid and pushed the box back under the bed.

Then he hurried to the kitchen, for Estorel, like all children, favoured cookies over princes, real or fake ones.

* * *

_"Are you trying to tell me that the son of Glorfindel will fall in love with a Dwarf?"_

_Lórien groaned, and looked again at the tapestry in front of him. Vairë considered for a brief moment hitting him with the loom, but this would have been unbecoming a Vala. She did not answer, though. Instead, she pointed at a part of the tapestry which showed a kitchen, a fireplace, a kettle and two Elves._

__

"Leave the Dwarf alone, Lórien. This tale here will be much more to your liking. These two Elves here were on their way from Lothlórien to Mirkwood, when..."

__


	6. DAY 5: "Ice cold"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Yuletide was the time of joy, love and laughter. At least this was what everybody said. The two Elves riding side by side through the deep snow, however, had obviously not heard of this fact yet. Legolas glared daggers at Haldir, while Haldir looked as if he had spent the last hours sucking on a lemon.

Legolas was insulted. He was a skilled archer and warrior. He was also known for his ability to imbibe vast quantities of alcohol without passing out. If there was a fight, Legolas was in right in the middle of it, and while he had no idea where his father's library was, he could have told Haldir the name of every tavern between Mirkwood and Lothlórien.

He could have - if he had felt like talking to Haldir. But this was definitely the last thing he wished to do right now. He was very upset with the Lady Galadriel for insisting that he should be accompanied by a guard, as there had been many sightings of Orcs lately outside the borders of the Golden Wood.

Orcs! As if he was afraid of a few Orcs! Compared to the spiders back home, fighting with Orcs was like smashing cockroaches with a slipper. So what was the point of dragging this – Elfling with him? If it came to a fight, it would be Legolas, the great warrior, saving Haldir’s backside, not the other way around!

The fact that Haldir had stubbornly ignored all of Legolas’ attempts to work his charm on him in these last weeks did not improve his mood – the Mirkwood Elf was not used to being rejected.

Haldir looked at Legolas out of the corner of his eye and frowned. The Valar hated him! It was Yule, he should be at home with his family, laughing and eating Yule dinner, but instead, he had to watch the backside of this - Elf.

Not that the backside in question was such a bad thing to watch. Haldir had noticed quite a while ago that Legolas' backside was quite a nice sight, just like the rest of the Mirkwood Elf. As a matter of fact, Haldir had stared open mouthed at Thranduil’s son when he had first seen him.

Never had he seen such beauty, and if Orophin had not elbowed him rather roughly in the side, Haldir would probably have spent hours in further reverie. Unfortunately, he soon learned that Legolas’ lovely face, slender body and graceful movements were accompanied by the manners of a cave troll. Legolas in Lothlórien had looked to Haldir like a stain on a white blanket, and the only thing to cheer him up was the knowledge that he had to accompany the Mirkwood Elf out of the Golden Wood.

And of course it had to start snowing as well. Heavily. The snowflakes, so lovely to look at individually, were chased through the air in masses by a sharp, cold wind, making the two Elves feel that they were riding towards a white wall.

"A snowstorm!" Haldir cried.

"I am so glad you mentioned it, otherwise it would have escaped my attention," Legolas snapped, trying to protect his eyes from the biting wind, "is there some shelter around here?"

Haldir had a sharp retort on his tongue, but then he thought better of it and nodded.

"Yes, there are barracks close by, used only in summer. We can go there and wait out the storm."

"Then lead the way," Legolas ordered and followed Haldir, who led his horse off the path into the wood.

Before too long, the barracks of the Galadhrim came into sight. Haldir dismounted, and led his horse into the stable adjoining the nearest barracks. Legolas followed him, shaking his head to rid himself of the snow. There was hay for the horses, and after they had rubbed the animals down and seen to their needs, the two Elves entered the barracks.

"The kitchen. Good, at least we will not starve. If your friends remembered to leave some provisions here, that is," Legolas said, wrinkling his nose at the simple room and sparse furniture. A thick layer of dust covered everything. Legolas had to grin as the image of Lady Galadriel with a feather duster crossed his mind.

"We have Lembas with us," Haldir said through gritted teeth, "as well as some dried meat. At least I shall not starve, but if you prefer to wait for the grilled rabbits to be served, be my guest, your majesty. I am aware that you are used to better meals in your palace."

Haldir had learned from Orophin that insults and provocations should be exchanged, and he had figured out very quickly what strings to pull to make Legolas jump. And indeed, the Mirkwood Elf did jump!

“How many times do I have to explain to you that I am not a prince and that I do not live in a palace?”

“Your father is a king. The logical conclusion would be that you are a prince.”

“The logical conclusion would be that you are an idiot. I have many brothers, and none of them is a prince, as my Ada chose not to marry. We are no ‘princelings’ parading around palaces. We are warriors!”

“My apologies – I should have known this without being told. After all, the only prince I ever met who belched during dinner was the son of a Dwarf. Of course an Elf who behaves like this cannot be a prince.”

If looks could kill, Haldir would have been a dead Elf by now, and he could not fully hide the smug grin on his face when he saw that the tips of Legolas’ ears had coloured dark red with anger. At least they had fairy lights for Yule now!

Legolas gnashed his teeth, threw his saddlebags on the floor, and walked towards the fireplace.

"At least they thought to leave some wood," he said as he knelt down to pull some logs out of their storage space under the hearth.

"I will start a fire so we can get warm. How about you look for food, or would you rather stand there and admire your pretty face in the mirror all night?"

Haldir started, for he had, indeed, been looking at his reflection in the broken mirror on the wall. He growled, and put his bags down carefully. Then he began to search through cupboards and shelves, finding nothing but a small bag of tea.

"We have tea," he said, and Legolas, who was trying to get a spark by hitting two firestones together, looked up.

"And?"

"And what?" Haldir asked.

"And what else? Or are you trying to tell me the only thing your friends left here was tea?"

Haldir shrugged. "We have our own food."

"So I take this as a 'no, Legolas, we have nothing but tea here in this barracks'. Fantastic. I shall always remember Lothlórien hospitality fondly. This is going to be the Yule Eve of my lifetime, a cherished memory to be shared with my grandsons one day."

“Your sarcasm warms my heart. But it would be even warmer if you could get the fire to burn.”

“Feel free to try yourself if you think you can do better.”

Haldir growled again, slamming a cupboard door shut. Legolas had finally managed to get the fire started, and was now carefully feeding the flames with dry wood.

"You seem to do that quite often," Legolas remarked, before blowing on the fire to fan the flames.

"What?"

"Growl."

Haldir arched an eyebrow.

"Do not listen if you do not like it."

Legolas shrugged. "Your brother does it too. Considering the importance you place on fine table manners, I find it amusing that you communicate like Wargs."

Now this was rather an evil remark, but Legolas was in a bad mood, and somebody had to suffer for it. Haldir was the only one available.

"If my brother growled at you, then he certainly had very good reason. Did you try to bed him, by any chance, and he turned you down?"

"Oh please," Legolas laughed, "that is pathetic! Me, try to bed your brother? How desperate do you think I am?"

It was true, Legolas had not tried to bed Orophin. But the Lórien Elf had caught him spying on Haldir when the youngest of the brothers had taken a bath. Besides growling at Legolas, Orophin had also promised to re-arrange the Mirkwood Elf’s bones in a most interesting new way should he ever dare to look at Haldir again, and only the arrival of the brothers’ father had prevented a fight.

But of course this was nothing Legolas would ever tell Haldir, so he returned his attention to the fire.

"One who ridicules the things he wants because he cannot get them is small of character,” Haldir said.

"Oh good grief!" Legolas rolled his eyes. "Do they teach you to be so pompous at school here in Lothlórien?"

"I only quoted a classic," Haldir replied, a smug smile on his face, "written by your grandfather, King Oropher. But I suppose the only use you have for books is to stand on them so you can reach the cookie-jar."

This arrow stung. Legolas, who was smaller than Haldir, turned brick red and spat into the fire.

"You are forgetting your place!"

"Do you think it is my idea of an ideal Yule Eve to sit here in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the horses and you for company? I could be with my family right now! This is the first Yule I have spent away from my mother, and..."

Haldir broke off. His little speech had come out sounding rather whiny, which was the last thing he had intended. Why did he have to mention his mother? Legolas would probably offer him a pacifier or something next. How embarrassing!

Legolas looked at Haldir. The Elf was still very young. Legolas remembered well how miserable he had been on the first Yule Eve he had spent away from home. He felt a little guilty for directing his bad mood at Haldir, and so he did not comment on Haldir's outburst. Instead, he took the kettle off the hook and went outside to fill it with snow.

"Keep your tea handy," he said, "I will be back in a moment."

The door closed behind him, and Haldir began to unpack his saddle bags. The best thing would be to stay here, in the kitchen, close to the fire. There was not enough wood to keep the whole barracks warm, and who knew how long the storm would last. Maybe they would have to stay here for two or even three days!

Haldir pulled the door to the common room closed, then he began to seal off the windows with rags he found in a cupboard.

"Good idea. It is cold enough without additional draughts through the gaps in the window frames."

Legolas carried the heavy kettle over to the fire and hung it back on the hook. Steam rose off the snow as it began to melt.

By now, Haldir had finished his work and was spreading out his bedroll. Legolas followed suit, then sat on the floor, watching Haldir fiddling with mugs and tea.

"Thank you," he said when Haldir handed him a steaming mug of hot tea, and the Mirkwood Elf took a sip. Haldir did not answer, but sat down beside the Mirkwood Elf, holding a mug as well.

The tea was good. And it was hot. Legolas began to feel more comfortable, and his spirits rose. If he was doomed to spend Yule Eve here in these barracks with Haldir, he might as well try to make the best of it. He reached for one of his saddle bags and pulled out a large flask.

Haldir arched an eyebrow questioningly.

"What is that? Water?"

"Ah no, much better than water. It is Dwarven liquor, the strongest available! It will warm you better than a fire ever could. Here, have some." He opened the flask, took a swig, then held it out to Haldir.

But the Lórien Elf shook his head.

"I do not drink strong spirits," he said, "and especially not when I am on duty."

Legolas rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on, do not be a spoil sport! You are not on duty right now, you are stranded in a barrack on Yule Eve, and the best thing to do in such circumstances is get drunk. Here - surely you would not turn down my peace-offering?"

Legolas batted his lashes, and Haldir blushed. It was difficult to deny Legolas anything when he was friendly and charming. And he was right, after all - what harm could one swig of liquor do? It was still very cold, so he took the flask, nodded his thanks and swallowed the sharp liquid.

The result was coughing, retching and fighting for air, and Legolas, laughing and slapping Haldir’s back helpfully, did not contribute much to the young Elf’s attempts to keep his dignity. The sharp liquid burned in his throat, and his eyes watered.

"I take it you do not have this liquor around here," Legolas stated smugly. Once Haldir had recovered and his face returned to its normal colour, he offered the young Elf the flask again.

"Here. Try again - but slowly this time!"

"Oh no, no," Haldir gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes, "I really do not think that..."

"Ah, no worries! You know what they say, it always hurts the first time. Here."

Legolas held the flask out, giving Haldir his brightest smile. As expected, the young Lórien Elf could not resist.

The next hours were spent in drinking and chatter. Legolas told Haldir about daily life in Mirkwood, and Haldir added funny anecdotes about his work and family. Legolas noted how fondly the young Elf spoke of his loved ones, and he felt a pang of envy. There could be no doubt that his father loved him, even if Thranduil had an odd way of showing it, but there had been many times when Legolas had missed the simple joy of a normal family life.

Haldir had become a little tipsy from the liquor, and was smiling all the time. It suited him. The longer they talked, the fairer Haldir looked to Legolas, and the Mirkwood Elf noticed well the shy sideways glances Haldir gave him when he thought Legolas was not looking.

Legolas did not take long to figure out that Haldir was attracted to him. So he was now considering his next move. He could bed the young Elf - and Legolas was confident enough to assume that Haldir would not turn his advances down. Or he could go to sleep. This was probably the more sensible option, especially considering the skill Orophin had shown with bow and arrow.

But then again, Orophin was far, far away, probably growling at his Yule dinner by now.

"It is getting late - and hot," Legolas said, in a low, sultry voice, and began to undo the lacings on his jerkin. Haldir, head spinning from the alcohol, stared at Legolas' nimble fingers as they exposed the Mirkwood Elf's skin inch by inch.

Legolas made a big show of pulling the jerkin over his head, followed by his shirt. Haldir stared at the intricate patterns tattooed on Legolas' torso.

"What do your tattoos mean?" he asked, and Legolas looked down at his body.

"These are marks for the battles I fought. Each of these pictures tells the story of a victory over my enemies."

Haldir pointed vaguely at a pattern of spirals and circles.

"So what victory was this?"

Legolas grinned, and moved a little closer to Haldir, who still stared mesmerized at the tattoos.

"That was a victory over the heart of a very fair warrior," he said.

"What?"

Haldir's eyes were like saucers, and he sat there, thunderstruck. Legolas reached out and ran his fingers over Haldir's cheek.

"I would love to add a sign for winning the heart of a fair warrior from Lothlórien," he whispered.

Haldir moved away as if he had been bitten by a snake, jumping up and heading for the door.

"I - we need more snow for the tea!" he stammered, and ran out into the storm.

Legolas shook his head. How strange! This was not the reaction he had expected. Potential lovers did not usually run away from him, on the contrary! Why was Haldir so scared of a little comfort between warriors?

Outside, Haldir grabbed some snow and rubbed it all over his face in a futile attempt to cool his heated skin. There were other parts of his body that needed cooling as well, but not even sitting in a bucket of ice cold water would have helped there. What a turn this night had taken! For a brief moment, Haldir considered saddling his horse and riding away, but this would have been suicidal in the storm. Furthermore, he was here by order of the lady Galadriel, and Haldir would have died rather than disobey her command.

There was no way around it: he had to go back inside and face the music. Or rather: a half-naked Legolas. What would Orophin do in a situation like this? Ignore the enemy.

Ignore a half-naked Legolas? Haldir sighed. What a task – but he had to master it. Once more, Haldir grabbed a handful of snow, then he took a deep breath and returned to the barracks.

Haldir had been wrong to prepare for a half-naked Mirkwood Elf. By now, Legolas had removed all of his clothing, and was resting on his bed roll, spread out like a lazy cat. Haldir was close to tears. Who could ignore a sight like this? He had to think of something boring. Lord Elrond’s chief advisor, maybe. Or Mallorn leaves. Yes, Mallorn leaves were good.

"It is a shame we have no Yule decoration here," Legolas said in a conversational tone, wriggling his toes. "Holly and berries, you know, and little silver bells. It is not really Yule until you hear them ring."

"Uh," Haldir said, and while it was not the brightest thing to say in such a situation, it was the best he could manage at that moment.

Legolas sat up and stretched his long legs.

"Will you stand there all night or will you join me now?" he asked, tapping his fingers impatiently on the bedroll.

Haldir swallowed hard. He walked over to Legolas and sat gingerly down on his own bedroll, carefully avoiding looking at Legolas.

"I really do not… I mean… this is not a very good idea…" he began, but Legolas only sniggered.

"Nonsense. This is an excellent idea! We are stuck here for the Valar know how long, it is cold, it is Yule Eve, and if you join me now, I promise you that there will even be bells ringing. So?"

Now Legolas was batting his lashes again. This was just too much for one young Elf to bear, and it was asking too much of Haldir to withstand where more seasoned warriors on the battlefield of love had failed. Hesitantly, he moved closer to Legolas. The other Elf, tired of waiting, reached for Haldir’s shirt and pulled him down. This was an easy task – Haldir was a little drunk, after all. So he found himself lying on Legolas, being firmly kissed by the older Elf, and this time it was not the Dwarven liquor which made his head spin…

Legolas knew exactly how he wanted things done, and whispered his wishes in Haldir’s ear, grinning like a fiend when the young Elf blushed. But embarrassed or not, Haldir was more than eager to comply, and did as he was asked.

A yelp, a groan, and Legolas rolled away, curling up in a ball.

"Wha-what… have I done anything wrong? Are you injured?"

Valar help him! If King Thranduil should hear that he, Haldir, had hurt his son, he would probably not be safe even in the Halls of Waiting, for Haldir had no doubt that even Námo would be scared of an angry King Thranduil.

"Legolas, please, speak to me! Shall I get help? Can I do anything? Is there…"

Legolas began to swear, using words that would have made a cave troll blush. Among all the curses Haldir could make out the words "hands", "cold" and "idiot."

Oh.

Oh oh.

Haldir looked down at his hands, then he touched his own face. He hissed, for his hands were, of course, ice cold, and it dawned on him that certain parts of an Elf’s anatomy should not be in contact with cold hands if they were to work properly.

"Oh no…"

How embarrassing! If there had only been a mouse hole to hide in!

Legolas made an odd noise, and Haldir looked up. It took him a while to realise that the other Elf was not groaning in pain, but laughing. Laughing? Legolas was howling! He rolled on his back, laughing till his eyes watered.

"By the Forest Spirits, you know how to cool me down, Haldir!" he laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes. Haldir was not quite sure whether to be relieved or insulted, but it was difficult to stay serious. The situation was simply too ridiculous.

"Let us agree never to tell anybody about this incident," Legolas said, "so we can both keep our reputations as skilled lovers."

"Well," Haldir said, scratching his head, "I will certainly never speak of it, though I have no such reputation to keep up."

"Somebody as fair as you certainly must have a reputation," Legolas replied, "do not tell me that all Elves in Lothlórien are blind!"

Haldir fiddled with his belt.

"It is not that there have not been offers," he said, careful not to look at Legolas, "I just have not accepted any yet."

"You have not?"

Legolas stared at the Elf opposite him in surprise. Haldir shook his head.

"I am sorry," Legolas said softly, "had I known this, I would not have pursued you so. Please do not think me selfish and thoughtless."

"Oh, I would never think that of you!" Haldir protested.

There was a twinkle in Legolas' eyes. "I am glad to hear it," he said. He took Haldir's hands and warmed them between his own.

"My dear Haldir, I have to tell you that the chances that I can go through with my original plan for this evening have shrunk." Legolas looked down at his body. "Significantly," he chuckled, and Haldir had to grin as well.

Haldir came to a decision. He took a deep breath, then he moved forward and pressed a gentle kiss on Legolas' lips.

"If you are cold," he said, "I could try to warm you. Would you... would you like that?"

Legolas rested his forehead on Haldir's.

"I would like that very, very much," he answered softly.

* * *

"This was one of the best Yule Eve's I have ever spent," Legolas said, drawing Haldir a little closer to his chest. He pressed a loving kiss on the nape of the younger Elf’s neck, nuzzled his ear and drew lazy patterns on Haldir's naked chest with his thumb.

Haldir sighed contently and watched the embers of the dying fire. The temperature had dropped in the room, but he felt warm and comfortable and loved.

"The storm has died down. We can continue our journey."

Legolas heard the disappointment in Haldir's voice, and this feeling echoed in his own heart.

"You know, I just had an idea," Legolas said, "I could return with you to Lothlórien and let my father know that I feel further negotiations with Lord Celeborn are necessary."

Haldir turned around, staring at Legolas in disbelief.

"Return to Lothlórien? But - why? Your family is waiting for you, and the contracts are all signed."

Legolas shrugged. He ran his hand through Haldir's hair, then he grinned.

"I know. But I could spend some time with you. In a century or two, my father will have calmed down again."

Seeing Haldir's expression, his smile vanished.

"Only if this is your wish as well, of course," he added.

"This would be fantastic," he gasped, "though Orophin will probably have your tongue for a belt."

Legolas winked.

"Then we shall not tell him - secrets are twice the fun!"

Then he pulled Haldir close for another long kiss.

* * *  
Outside, a tall figure in a dark cloak slipped away from the window, careful not to be noticed by the two Elves in the barracks. Pulling his hood up, he made his way back to his horse and his travel companion.

"And?" Rúmil asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Guess so," Orophin growled and got on his horse.

"Mother hen," Rúmil grinned.

Orophin did not answer.

But he smiled.

* * *

_"This just goes to prove my theory that the more two Elves argue, the greater their desire to bed each other," Lórien stated, trying to look wise._

_"I had no idea that you were such an expert in matters of the heart, my dear," Vairë replied. "Especially considering that you are still unwed after all these millennia."_

_The Master of Dreams pouted._

_"As if this was my fault – what can I do if the lady of my heart is too busy making the birds sing and flowers open at her passing? Birds and flowers are lovely things, but there is more to life. This aside, you are not married, either."_

_Vairë shrugged._

_"I have given up my hopeless longing for Námo. It does not look like he will give up this ridiculous infatuation for the Half-elf any time soon. And it is not as if we have a wide choice, considering the limited number of Valar."_

_"Well, I am still available."_

_Lórien batted his lashes playfully, and Vairë threw a reel of yarn at him, laughing._

_"Do not tempt me, Lórien! Or I shall take you at your word and make you wind wool for the rest of your days!"_

_"You say this as if it were a bad thing… imagine, Vairë: you weaving your tapestries, and I showing our son how to mess with your yarn."_

_"Lórien! Since when do Valar have children?" Vairë cried out, and now it was Lórien’s turn to shrug._

_"Firstborn, Dwarves, Hobbits and Men seem to be very fond of the little creatures. Who knows? Maybe they would be fun."_

_Vairë snorted._

_"Fun. Indeed. Maybe while they are still young, but once they get close to their majority... I could tell you stories that would rid you of your foolish daydreams immediately."_

_Lórien grinned._

_"You know that I am very fond of your stories – among other things," he said, and winked at her._

_Vairë blushed, and as this embarrassed her greatly, she quickly returned her attention to her tapestry._

_"This here is just the tale for you. Eldanar, the young Elf, sat under a tree and was devastated…"_


	7. DAY 6: "Froggie went-a-courtin'"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"You are not a great help, you know."

Eldanar glared at the rabbit sitting on his lap, but the animal was far too busy chewing on the carrot the young Elf held in his hand to pay attention.

"It would be easier if you had long fangs and smelled, you know. But how can I kill you if you look all cute and sweet?"

Again, the rabbit did not answer, and Eldanar let out a deep sigh of despair. It had been easy enough to catch the rabbit. Orophin, though very surprised to learn of his son's new-found interest in the hunt, had shown Eldanar how to construct a trap. Orophin was a skilled hunter, the trap had been perfect, and so it had not taken too long for Eldanar to catch an animal.

Unfortunately for Eldanar and luckily for the rabbit, the animal had been unharmed, and when Eldanar had come to check the trap, he had found the brown, fluffy, cute and innocent looking animal caught under the basket, chewing happily on the carrot Eldanar had laid out as a bait.

"There is no way I can kill you," Eldanar said, "and this means I have no gift for Miss Bramble, while Estorel will probably present her with a whole pack of dead Wargs."

Estorel. The very thought of the eldest son of Master Erestor and Lord Glorfindel was enough to make Eldanar gnash his teeth. There had been a time when Estorel was a cute little Elfling. However, soon enough, his Plains-Elf heritage had shown, and while Eldanar still looked rather young for his 80 years, Estorel was already grown up, if not in years, then in appearance. He had inherited Erestor's exotic features, but that was where all resemblance to his Sia ended. He was every bit as loud, self-confident and bold as his father, and as if that was not bad enough, Estorel was very popular with the ladies as well.

"You should have seen him this morning," Eldanar complained to the rabbit as he stroked the silky fur, "ten silly giggling girls, all making moo-eyes and listening to his hackneyed tale of how he slew that stupid Warg. We all know the Warg was killed when a tree-branch broke off and hit it on the head, but if you listened to Estorel, you would think that he fought the beast to the death. Stupid girls."

The rabbit could not have cared less for Estorel's attraction for females, and even Eldanar's obvious distress did not bother him much. But well, better a rabbit for company than nobody, Eldanar thought.

"And the worst thing was that Miss Bramble listened to his nonsense as well," Eldanar growled. "She actually giggled when Estorel told her that she would get a Yule present worthy of a queen from him. Giggled! Miss Bramble! Can you imagine this?"

Obviously not, and since the carrot was gone and Eldanar did not have another, the rabbit took his leave, hopping off the young Elf's lap and disappearing into the wood, leaving paw prints in the snow.

"Not even rabbits care for me," Eldanar sighed, propping his chin on his hand and staring sadly at the trap.

"I am sure Rabbit cares deeply for you, Eldanar," an amused voice could be heard, "for all I know, you are the only one he has not bitten yet."

"Master Erestor! I did not hear you coming, and..."

Eldanar broke off and bit his lip. How much of his silly conversation with the rabbit had the advisor heard? Hopefully none of his uncomplimentary remarks about Estorel...

"Ah, do not worry, young one. Whatever you said, I did not hear it," Erestor replied with a wink, sitting down beside Eldanar on the stone. The young Elf blushed.

"But tell me, Eldanar - how come you are sitting all alone out here in the woods, and on the afternoon of Yule? Your ada Elladan has been looking for you everywhere."

"Uh."

"Uh indeed. He did not look pleased. Maybe you should consider going home as quickly as possible?"

Eldanar sighed again.

"I cannot go home yet. I still do not have a present for Miss Bramble."

Erestor had to hide a grin. Eldanar's infatuation with the lovely daughter of Haldir and Rabbit was common knowledge, and he could well imagine that the question of Miss Bramble's Yule present was of far greater importance to Eldanar than helping his parents with the preparations for the great feast in the evening.

"I thought you wanted to give her a book of poetry?" Erestor asked, smiling encouragingly at the youngster.

"Yes, well, originally. But then..."

Another sigh.

"Then what? You can tell me, Eldanar, if something is troubling you. I have been told in the past that I am not too bad at giving advice."

Eldanar scratched his head and kicked the snow.

"Ada Orophin told me that it is the custom among Plains Elves to hunt something for those who... people who... special people... well. Hunt for people."

"I see. And so you tried to hunt for... Miss Bramble?"

Eldanar rolled his eyes.

"I tried, but as you can see, it was a total failure. I caught a rabbit, but I could not bring myself to kill it, so I set it free. And now Miss Bramble will get a miserable book of poetry from me while Estorel..."

Eldanar quickly covered his mouth with his hand. His last words had just slipped out, and certainly Master Erestor would not take kindly to someone speaking of his eldest son in such a way!

But much to Eldanar's surprise, Erestor only smiled.

"I know. Estorel will probably go out and hunt down the biggest Warg he can find, decorate it with a bow and give it to Miss Bramble tonight."

Eldanar's eyes got wide.

"How do you know, Master Erestor? Did he tell you?"

Erestor shook his head.

"No. But I am married to his father. I know more about mating rites than I ever wanted to learn, believe me."

"Did Lord Glorfindel hunt a Warg for you as well?" Eldanar asked, looking at Erestor expectantly. He found the thought of these two old Elves having once courted each other very odd, but he was too polite to say so.

"No. No, Lord Glorfindel never hunted a Warg for me."

"How did you know that he liked you then?"

Erestor laughed loud.

"I suppose I knew the very moment he threw me over his shoulder and carried me to his chamber," he said, and Eldanar's eyes got even wider.

"He did?"

"Indeed."

"Do you think I should do this with Miss Bramble as well?"

"Good grief, no," Erestor said, shaking his head, "unless you want to become Rabbit's Yule Feast!"

"But what can I do then? I like Miss Bramble, and I want to give her something she likes."

Erestor thought about it for a while, then he said: "Eldanar, it is true that Plains Elves have customs that we might find a little strange, but Miss Bramble is a Plains Elf, so you must respect that. On the other hand, Miss Bramble is also a lady. And ladies, no matter where they come from and what people they belong to, will always stay ladies."

Eldanar wrinkled his nose.

"And what does that mean?" he asked.

"I will tell you. Listen..."

* * *  
"Another visitor? What is wrong with these people, do they not have families to spend Yule Eve with?" Haldir growled when the family dinner was interrupted for the sixth time in an hour by a knock on the door. Rabbit didn't answer, only cocked an eyebrow.

"Should it be another dead animal, tell him to deposit outside, with the others," he said.

Bramble looked a little guilty, but only a little. She had found the attention she had been getting this day very flattering, though she did not know what to do with all the dead animals. Rabbits, deer and geese were piling up outside, and Estorel had even brought along the largest Warg she had ever seen. He had only stopped boasting about his fight with the beast after Rabbit had attempted to spring at the young Elf.

Haldir opened the door, and Bramble's face lit up when she saw that it was Eldanar who stood outside.

"Eldanar!" Haldir welcomed him, "I hope you did not bring us a Warg as well!"

"Warg? No, no, I have no Warg..." Eldanar stuttered, very confused.

"No? Good. Then maybe a rabbit? Or a frog?"

"No, no rabbit..."

"What a shame. I like rabbits," Haldir said.

"I hope so," Rabbit growled, and Haldir wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ada, please stop it," Bramble said, rolling her eyes. Her parents could be very intimidating at times, especially for a shy one like Eldanar. She got up and walked to the door.

"Greetings, Eldanar. Do you not wish to come in?"

"Oh, I do not know... I did not wish to disturb..."

Eldanar shuffled his feet, unsure of how to proceed.

"What are you waiting for? Come in," Haldir ordered, "you can blush inside our home just as well as outside."

Eldanar quickly obeyed, and Haldir closed the door behind him.

"I... only came to give... I mean, I was here by accident... My, you look nice today, Miss Bramble!"

"Thank you!" the girl laughed. She wore a simple robe of dark brown velvet, and the colour suited her wonderfully. "It was a present from Mistress Naergilien."

"Ah."

"Will you tell us what brought you here before my dinner gets cold, Eldanar?" Haldir asked impatiently, eyeing his plate.

"Oh, yes... I... as I said... here."

Blushing and stuttering, Eldanar pressed a small package into Bramble's hands, and quickly took a step back.

"A present? For me? How lovely!"

Bramble unwrapped the present, and dropped the paper. Now she held a small round stone pot in her hands.

"What is it?" she asked, looking at the object from all angles.

"It is... you can open the lid..." Eldanar tried to explain, but Bramble had already opened the pot and looked inside.

"A salve?" she asked, dipped her finger in it and sniffed. Then she wrinkled her nose.

"This smells... interesting," she said, scrunching up her face.

"I made it," Eldanar said, visibly shrinking, "it is a salve for your hands. In winter. When it's cold. You said your hands get raw when you hunt for crayfish when it is cold, and so I thought... it was only an idea... I am sorry... I could still go and catch a frog..."

Bramble looked down at the pot. Then she looked out of the window, where she could see the backside of the Warg Estorel had hunted for her. It was a large Warg. With a large bow. And this was a tiny pot.

"You made this salve for me?" she asked, and Eldanar, by now as red as a cooked lobster, nodded, all the while fiddling with his belt.

"You collected all these herbs and made this salve - especially for me? Oh, Eldanar... what a beautiful present!"

"I am really sorry, I tried to hunt something, but... what? You mean you like it?"

Eldanar, so wrapped up in his eagerness to apologise, only now saw the dazzling smile on Bramble's face.

"Like it? I adore it! Nobody has ever done anything so thoughtful for me! No more red and raw hands! Oh Eldanar, you are the best friend I ever had!"

She stood on her toes and kissed Eldanar on both cheeks. His head was spinning, and not even Rabbit's growl bothered him.

"Wonderful. Great present. Very kind of you. But I am sure your parents are already missing you. Namaarië, Eldanar, have a nice Yule Evening."

With that, Haldir opened the door, and Eldanar was shoved outside, but not before he turned one last time to wave at Miss Bramble, who giggled, blushed and waved back. The door slammed shut, and Eldanar was alone.

Miss Bramble had kissed him! And she had liked his present! Eldanar felt happier than ever in his life, and very, very grown up as well.

Not too grown-up, though, to poke his tongue out at Estorel's Warg before he headed back to the Last Homely House.

* * *

_Lórien was just about to comment on the story when a loud cheer made the chandeliers tremble._

_"By all the Valar but myself - what are these Elves doing?" he groaned, but Vairë only shrugged._

_"I am not the all-knowing one around here," she said, "but it is very likely that Gil-galad finally found some dancers. Give it another hour, and Amaris will find the Miruvor Glorfindel left behind."_

_Lórien threw his hands up._

_"Dancers! Miruvor! What do these two think the Halls of Waiting are? Valinor's tavern?"_

_Vairë had a small smile on her lips._

_"My dear Lórien, the Firstborn are very wise. However, they are also very silly. Would you really want them to change? To spend ages sitting here, brooding? Is it not enough that we are dignified day after day, for all eternity? I do not think Valinor could take much more dignity, lest the birds drop out of the trees from boredom."_

_The Master of Dreams arched his eyebrows._

_"My dear, to hear you talk like that, I would almost think that you were bored."_

_Vairë cut a thread off the Yule tapestry._

_"Maybe your life is full of adventure and excitement, Lórien. I dare say, though, that even you would long for some variety after ages and ages of weaving tapestries."_

_Lórien noticed the icy tone and hurried to change the subject._

_"Do not let the Firstborn interrupt your most interesting tales, Vairë. Pray tell - are these Elflings?"_

_Vairë put the scissors aside, a gesture Lórien noticed with great relief, then she looked at her tapestry._

_"Indeed, these are Elflings. It was many, many years ago, on a Yule Evening in Imladris, and the twin-sons of Lord Elrond and the Lady Arwen had been sent to bed early..."_


	8. DAY 7: "Only the cherries"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"I bet they are dancing now," Elrohir said wistfully.

"And eating cake," Elladan added. The twins sighed in unison.

"It is not fair," Elrohir complained, "they are having all the fun and we are sent to bed."

"Meanies," Elladan stated, and Elrohir nodded. For a while, the brothers were silent, both listening to the faint sound of music and laughter coming from the Great Hall.

"It was more fun when Orophin was here."

"Oh yes," Elladan agreed, "he would have sat with us and told us tales."

"But we are too old for a guardian now, Ada said." In a remarkable imitation of Lord Elrond, he arched an eyebrow and said sternly: "You are old enough now to be responsible for your own actions and be more sensible in your deeds."

The boys giggled, then Elrohir hit his pillow.

"I am not tired!"

"Me neither."

Elladan turned in his bed and looked at this brother on the other side of the room. Elrohir sat upright, the cover firmly wrapped around him, and made what Elladan used to call "Elrohir's thinking face".

"We could sneak back down and see what they are doing."

"Sneak down? Oh no, we cannot do that, Elrohir!"

Elladan shivered at the thought of being caught by their father or, even worse, Master Erestor, sneaking around the Great Hall when they had been sent to bed hours ago.

"There might be cake left," Elrohir said slyly, and as expected, Elladan's initial protest died rather quickly at the mention of food.

"You are right, there might. Maybe... if we just go down and have a quick look... we could hide behind one of the tapestries..."

Before Elladan could finish the sentence, Elrohir had already slipped out of his bed, heading for the door.

"What are you waiting for? Come! This is going to be fun! Nobody will see us."

Elladan hesitated for a moment, but when Elrohir dashed out of the door, he followed.

The children walked down the corridor, and the noise from the Great Hall became louder.

"Let us take the other stairs," Elrohir said, "to the kitchen. This way, we need not pass any of the great doors and nobody will see us.

Elladan nodded, and the brothers tip-toed down the back stairs. Their hearts beat high in their chests, half in fear, half in excitement. Finally, they arrived beside a small side-entrance to the Great Hall, and the large banquet table was only a few steps away.

"Oh, look!" Elladan whispered excitedly, pointing at the table. "There are cakes! And a bowl of berry juice!"

"Shush! They will hear you!" Elrohir hushed his brother, and the children peeked around the corner.

Many guests had already retired to their chambers, but there were still a lot in the Hall. Master Erestor was dancing with a lady who talked incessantly all through the dance. The stern advisor was trying to look interested, but it was obvious that he could not wait for the music to end. He was not the most sociable of Elves, and having to dance with a lady he did not know was about as amusing for him as having a tooth pulled.

"Huuuh, look! Uncle Glorfindel is angry!"

Elrohir pulled on Elladan's sleeve and pointed at the Balrog-slayer, who stood in a corner, following the dancing couple with a look in his eyes that would have sent the Dark Lord himself fleeing in panic. He clutched a glass of Yule punch, and from the flush on his face, it was very likely that this was not his first glass this evening.

"I do not think he likes that lady," Elladan said, "maybe he would like to dance with Master Erestor himself?"

Elrohir elbowed his brother in the ribs and laughed.

"Do not be silly! Uncle Glorfindel does not like Master Erestor; he always calls him a boring old crow!"

Elladan had his doubts, but did not say anything.

"Come," Elrohir said, and before Elladan could ask "where to?" his younger brother was crawling on all fours under the banquet table. Elladan gave a little yelp; he was sure somebody would see them now. But all the guests seemed to be occupied with themselves. When Elrohir beckoned to him to join him, Elladan followed his brother under the table.

This was an excellent observation place. The twins were hidden from view by the table cloths hanging down from the table, but could still see everything that was going on.

This was interesting for a while - until Elladan's stomach began to grumble.

"I am hungry," he said.

"Wait, I will see if I can find something."

Elrohir made sure that nobody was standing at the table, then he reached up and began to feel about on the table for food. Finally his searching hand found something. He grabbed it and returned to his brother.

"Here. But half of it is mine," he said, passing his brother a piece of fruitcake.

"Oh, thank you! I like these!"

The brothers ate in companionable silence. Elrohir licked his fingers clean; Elladan wiped his sticky digits on his nightshirt, leaving ugly red stains.

"I am thirsty," he said.

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "Now it is your turn!"

Elladan nodded, and began to crawl along, under the table. He had seen a bowl of berry juice before they had slipped under the table, and he remembered that it had been standing in the middle.

The boy peeked out from his hiding place, and to his great delight, he found a second, smaller bowl standing on a chair, just within reach. A ladle hung from its side. Elladan took the bowl and quickly retreated to this brother.

"Look what I found!" he said, his eyes shining with excitement, "a whole bowl full of berry juice!"

Elrohir looked into the glass bowl. A strong, fruity scent emerged from it, and the juice was of a lovely dark red colour. Cherries were swimming in the fluid. He reached for the ladle, filled it and took an experimental sip. Then he pulled a face.

"Ewww... this is not juice," he said, but he took another sip, anyway.

"Why do you drink it if it tastes nasty?" Elladan asked, and Elrohir shrugged.

"It is funny, it tickles in the nose. Here, you try it, too."

He passed the ladle to Elladan, who also took a swig.

"Blech, that is really nasty. But yes, it tickles. Want more?"

"Yes! Oh, I have an idea, this will be fun!"

Elrohir filled his mouth with the drink, leant his head back and gargled. Elladan had to laugh, and Elrohir joined in, spitting the liquid all over Elladan. The older of the twins splashed some on his brother in return.

"My turn now!" he giggled, and within moments, both children were drenched and slightly drunk.

"This is very funny, I feel all woozie," Elrohir said. Elladan nodded.

"Yes, me too, but look, try the cherries, they are lovely!"

"Oh no, I am not hungry anymore," Elrohir replied, holding his head. "I am tired and feel funny, I think I have to lie down a moment."

Elladan shrugged, and continued to fish the cherries out of the bowl. He stuffed them in his mouth and munched happily. They tasted funny, but also good, and his head felt so light all of a sudden. He was just about to fish out another cherry when he heard a familiar voice next to his head.

"I am glad that you could make it here, even if late," Lord Elrond said, "I am only sorry that the children did not see you, they would have been over the moon."

This statement was commented by a growl, coming from the Elf standing beside Lord Elrond. Elladan dropped the cherry and jumped up immediately on hearing this much-beloved sound, hitting his head hard on the table. His delighted yell of "Orophin!" turned into a loud howling.

"By the Valar, what is that?"

Orophin did not answer Elrond's question, but instead pulled the tablecloth away to see where this terrible noise was coming from.

"Elladan!" he and Elrond yelled in chorus.

What a sight. Two Elflings, soaked in red liquid, both obviously drunk. Elrohir sleeping on the cold floor, sucking his thumb, and Elladan crying as if he had just been bitten by a Warg. Elladan had a large bump on his head, and Orophin growled again.

"What are you doing here?" Elrond boomed, while Orophin knelt down and picked up the crying Elfling.

Orophin did not say anything, only gave Elrond a stern look, and the Elflord hurried to crawl under the table and pick up the still-sleeping Elrohir. By now, the music had stopped, and all eyes were on the goings-on by the banquet table. Erestor and Glorfindel rushed to the crime scene, and both looked very worried when they saw the red stains on the children's night shirts. Glorfindel took a closer look, then he sniffed, and finally broke into loud laughter.

"The rascals! They sneaked down and got themselves drunk! Brilliant!"

"I cannot see what should be amusing about this incident," Erestor snarled, glaring at Glorfindel down his long nose.

"Of course not, dear Erestor," Glorfindel snickered, "for that would require a sense of humour, and we all know that you do not possess one."

Meanwhile, Elladan continued to sob into Orophin's hair, wiping snot all over his shoulder. This did not seem to perturb the warrior in the least. Elrond was still holding Elrohir, with a rather helpless expression on his face.

Orophin hugged Elladan closer to his chest, and gave Elrond a look fit to curl the hair on a bald man's head.

"Bath and bed," Orophin growled, and turned to head for the twins’ bathing chamber, for both Elflings were so sticky that one would have needed a scraper to peel them off the ground had one been foolish enough to lay them down.

Elrond was not used to being ordered around, but he saw the necessity of some major cleaning work, and so he followed the Lórien Elf, while Glorfindel turned to the guests.

"My friends, let the children be an example for us! We have wine and we have music, let us make merry!"

Everybody laughed and returned to chatting and dancing, with the exception of Erestor, who stood next to Glorfindel. The advisor had his arms folded over his chest, and was tapping his foot disapprovingly on the floor, a sure sign that he was highly annoyed. Glorfindel slapped his back in a friendly manner, and reached for a glass and a carafe of wine.

"Do not worry, Erestor. Should you accidentally stumble over one of the two left feet of your most charming dance partner and fall into the cherry punch bowl, I shall personally see to it that you get your sponge bath."

"You are incredible!" Erestor hissed, and Glorfindel, after taking a sip of wine, grinned.

"Thank you, Erestor. And you are standing under the mistletoe, so you might not be in the best position to pick a fight, unless you are prepared for my retaliation."

Erestor looked to the ceiling: the candelabras hanging over the table were indeed decorated with holly and - mistletoe.

The advisor took a hasty step back, out of harm's way.

Glorfindel sighed.

"A pity. You do not know what you are missing. But this is not the last Yule we will celebrate, my dear Erestor, and I foresee the day when you will ask for my kiss."

"That will be the day it snows in Mordor!" Erestor snapped.

Glorfindel frowned, and began to search his pockets. Then he addressed Erestor.

"You do not happen to have quill and paper with you, do you?"

Erestor looked confused.

"No, of course not. Why do you need quill and paper now, anyway?"

Glorfindel took another sip of wine.

"To write and tell Sauron that he should start knitting a warm sweater, for heavy snowfalls are expected."

Erestor huffed, turned around and left, inwardly cursing Glorfindel for his cheek. The Balrog slayer's gaze followed the lean, black-clad figure, and he sighed.

"If only I knew how to melt the ice around your heart, Erestor," he said to himself. Then he reached for the carafe again.

* * *  
It had been quite a piece of work to peel the sticky nightshirts off the twins, wash the children and then get the cherries out of their hair. Elladan had been sick twice, making a mess that Orophin cleaned up without even blinking. Now the little miscreants slept peacefully in their beds, and Orophin tucked in the coverlet around Elladan's small form. The child still clutched Orophin's scarf and would not let go of it, so the warrior let him keep it. Then the two Elves left the room on tip-toe so as not to awaken the sleeping Elflings.

Outside, Orophin towered opposite Elrond, arms folded and green eyes sparkling with anger.

"Old enough to look after themselves, yes?" he growled.

"I thought..." Elrond tried, but he did not get far.

"Too old for a guardian?"

"Well, actually..."

"Sensible and responsible?"

Elrond sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Fine, fine, fine. I agree, you were right, and I was wrong. Can you stay?"

"Of course."

"You will have to ask Lord Celeborn for leave, of course."

"Oh, he granted it before I left for Imladris," Orophin answered.

"How come?" Elrond asked.

Orophin shrugged. "Intuition."

Elrond felt a sudden urge to hit the other Elf over the head with a blunt object when he saw the smug grin on his face.

But as it was Yule Eve, he decided to get drunk instead.

Elladan, however, slept with a big smile on his face. His greatest wish for Yule had been granted.

* * *

_Lórien winced._

_"Well, maybe having Elflings is not as much fun as I thought it was," he admitted._

_Vairë hid a grin._

_"The Firstborn obviously disagree with you there. And from all I know, they are very fond of the process which leads to the creation of an Elfling as well."_

_"I have no doubt - just look at Glorfindel and his many lovers! But pray tell, Vairë: for how many centuries did Glorfindel court his reluctant scroll-shuffler? Listening to your tales, I get the impression he had been trying to win Erestor's heart since the First Age!"_

_The weaver thought about it for a while, looking at the tapestries hanging on the walls of her hall._

_"I am not quite sure,” she said, and bit her lip, "but it must have been a very long time indeed. This reminds me of the first Yule these two spent together as lovers..."_


	9. DAY 8: "Lazy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

As yet, the morning of Yule Eve was nothing but a faint glow on the horizon. And even this was more guesswork than knowledge, for a heavy storm chased snowflakes around the Last Homely House and the wind played a wild melody in the chimneys.

If it had been up to Erestor, he would have snuggled deeper under the bedcovers, hoping for a dream full of sun and warmth. Alas, a long day with many duties lay ahead of Lord Elrond's chief advisor, and so a long lie was not an option. Erestor sighed deeply, then he began to free himself of sheets, blankets and Glorfindel.

However, the warrior objected.

"Where do you think you are going?" he grumbled, tightening his hold on Erestor.

"Shall I list my duties alphabetically?"

"No. I want you to stop squirming and get back here."

Glorfindel was not a morning person. It was usually only during breakfast that he began to communicate with his environment in full sentences, and close to noon before he was approachable. The dark before dawn was therefore the worst of all times to discuss anything with the warrior.

"I would love to, Fin, but we have all these guests and Elrond needs to work on his welcome speech for Thranduil, and..."

"I could not care less for Elrond and his speeches right now, Erestor," Glorfindel said, glaring at his lover. "It is dark outside, the weather is lousy, it is cold, and you will not wander around the Last Homely House at such an indecent time."

With that, he pulled Erestor, who was already sitting on the edge of the bed, back down to him, hugging him tightly and drawing the covers over the protesting advisor.

"Glorfindel, please stop being silly. Of course I would prefer to stay here with you, but..."

"Well, then stop complaining and do it."

Glorfindel kissed Erestor's cheek.

"Now listen carefully, Master Erestor of the Early Rise: this is the very first Yule we shall spend together, my dear. I had to chase you for centuries, I was refused by you a million times, I did everything possible and impossible to win your heart and made a complete idiot of myself more than once. During our courtship, I broke my arm twice, took an arrow in my shoulder, fell out of a tree, almost drowned in the Bruinen, was trodden on by my horse, pecked by your crows, hurt my fist on RÃºmil's nose, fell off the roof of the stable and got stuck in a chimney. Considering all this, I think the least I deserve is some quality time with the Elf of my choice, and that said Elf does not flee our bed at a time when even the chickens are still sleeping!"

Erestor blushed.

"It was not that bad, Fin," he murmured, and Glorfindel nodded.

"You are right - it was even worse! So you owe it to me to stay here with me where it is warm and comfortable and where I can look after you the way you deserve."

He kissed Erestor gently, and the he rested his forehead on Glorfindel's, smiling.

"I would love to stay with you here, Fin. But there is so much work to do - I cannot neglect my duties."

Glorfindel chuckled.

"Oh, you will not neglect anything. There is no work for you today."

Erestor's eyes got wide.

"What do you mean by this, Fin?"

"I mean by this that you have no work today. No work, no appointments, no duties, no meetings, no cataloguing of Elrond's thimble collection. The only duty you have today is to stay here and moan at the appropriate time."

"I do not understand, Fin. You speak in riddles."

Glorfindel wrapped a strand of Erestor's long black hair around his finger, then he tickled the advisor's nose with its end and grinned when Erestor scrunched up his face and tried to avoid sneezing. Glorfindel pressed a kiss on Erestor's long nose and grinned.

"This is my Yule Eve present for you, Erestor. I wanted to give you something very special for our first Yule together, so I made sure that today, there are no duties for you and no work. It is all taken care of."

Erestor arched an eyebrow.

"No work? I have a meeting with Feronil all morning!"

"I have taken care of it."

"What about the guests?"

"Elladan and Elrohir will look after them."

"The reception?"

"Elrond will manage."

"His welcome speech to Thranduil?"

"I wrote it."

"Good grief - that means Thranduil will declare war on Imladris! I hope you did not write anything indecent?"

Glorfindel chuckled and ran his hands up and down Erestor's back. He loved the feeling of Erestor's skin under his hands, the rippling of the muscles and the warmth of his body.

"No, I did not. I can be very diplomatic if I have to, Erestor."

Erestor gave him a slightly doubtful look, but then he snuggled up to Glorfindel and sighed blissfully.

"Thank you, Fin. What a wonderful present!"

"I know. I am wonderful."

"And oh so humble!"

"Ah yes, that too. One of my greatest virtues."

Erestor pressed a kiss on the hollow of Glorfindel's throat.

"And what do you suggest I should do with my day off?" he asked, batting his lashes at the warrior. Glorfindel grinned and rolled Erestor onto his back, coming to rest on top of his lover. He raked his hands through the dark hair, and pretended to think seriously about the question.

"You could advise me what parts of your skin I have not kissed yet," he finally said.

"I think I can manage that," Erestor replied, shifting a little and making Glorfindel groan. "But I think it would take you longer than one day to make up for this neglect."

The warrior shrugged.

"Then we better stop talking now!"

He cut off all further protest from Erestor with a deep kiss. Glorfindel had every intention of making the next few hours unforgettable for his lover.

As for Feronil - well. He was a clever elf. Sooner or later, he would certainly find a way to free himself from the ties.

* * *

_"And, did he?"_

_"Did he what?" Vairë asked, frowning at Lórien._

_"Free himself."_

_"Ah, you are talking about Feronil... yes, he did - eventually," Vairë replied. "But it might have been better if Glorfindel had not tied him down in the study next to Lindir's chamber. Lindir read three volumes of "Nana Goose" to him before he could escape."_

_Lórien pulled a face._

_"Did he ever forgive Glorfindel?"_

_"Not yet. But I am certain that he will. By the end of the Fourth Age, maybe."_

_The two Vala laughed, and Lórien returned his attention to the Yule tapestry._

_"Ah, here we have my favourite Elf again!" Lórien grinned, rubbing his hands together in joyful anticipation. "I cannot wait to hear what my dear Celeborn did on Yule!"_

_Vairë rolled her eyes._

_"How come I am not surprised... very well then. It was the night before Yule when Erestor and Glorfindel went to the library..."_


	10. DAY 9: "Vanilla Elf"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Yule was only one day away, and all of Imladris was buzzing with laughter and excitement. The kitchen staff was working around the clock, and even sightings of Feronil humming a Yule tune had been reported.

Naturally, all Elflings were highly excited and driving their parents insane.

It was after Estorel’s sixth visit to Glorfindel’s and Erestor’s bedchamber to inquire if it really was not Yule Eve yet that Glorfindel had brought up a book series called "Bedtime Tales for Difficult Elflings". This was supposed to be a classic, and one Glorfindel had been introduced to as an Elfling himself, a fact which did not surprise Erestor in the least.

Glorfindel wished to see if the library of Imladris contained at least volumes I – VIII of "Bedtime Tales for Difficult Elflings", and as Erestor did not want his husband to dig through the old tomes unsupervised, he accompanied him.

The library was empty, as one might expect the day before Yule. Everything was in place, a testimony of Melpomaen's sense of order. Even the quills on Erestor's desk were neatly arranged, all facing North, and Erestor’s mail was stacked perfectly parallel to the edge of the desk.

So it was no surprise that an open book, seemingly carelessly placed on the desk, caught Erestor’s attention.

"How odd! Somebody left a book here".

"Outrageous!" Glorfindel replied. "A book? In a library? Who has heard of such an event before? Let me call my guards so we may investigate!"

Erestor ignored his sarcastic husband and picked up the book. He read a few lines, then he turned it over and read the title.

"And? Is it anything of interest? I hope it is not 'Snail Breeding for Beginners' or something equally exciting, or you might not be able to drag yourself away from this library again for another week," Glorfindel quipped.

Erestor did not answer, but seemed to listen to something. Then he sniffed.

Glorfindel frowned, for he knew what this meant, and so, mouthing the question, he asked if somebody was hiding in the library. Erestor nodded, sniffed again, and then smiled.

"There is no need to hide, Melpomaen - it is only I."

"And I, Glorfindel. Come here, young one, we do not bite! Well, at least I do not - as for your father..."

Erestor raised the book threateningly, and Glorfindel decided not to complete his sentence.

After a few moments, it was indeed Melpomaen who emerged from the depths of the aisle between two long rows of books. His face was red, he bit his lips, and he shuffled his feet. All in all, he was a picture of guilt.

"Well met, ada and Glorfindel," he croaked, then cleared his throat to repeat his greeting in a normal voice.

"Why do you hide from us, penneth?" Glorfindel asked, noticing well that the young Elf did not appear too comfortable in their company. "Have you sneaked in here to read Lord Elrond's special book collection in secrecy?"

He put an arm around the shoulder of the highly embarrassed Elf, and squeezed it comfortingly.

"If you need recommendations, simply ask me. I can tell you where to find the good lines, right down to the page number. It will save you a lot of trouble searching. There are also some interesting illustrations which..."

"Glorfindel! Will you please stop embarrassing my son?"

It was a bad sign when Erestor called him by his full name, so Glorfindel let go of Melpomaen and took a step back.

"Have you been reading this book, Melpomaen?" Erestor asked, and after more shuffling of feet, the young Elf nodded. Erestor reached out and stroked Melpomaen's hair.

"It is alright, son. It is perfectly fine to read this book. But you know that you could ask me as well if you had any questions."

Glorfindel almost sprained his neck when he tried to read the title of the book, for now he was really curious. Finally he managed, and his eyes widened.

"But Melpomaen! The information in that book is absolutely outdated! All you can learn from it is how not to do it!"

"'From Elfling to Elf' by Master Elwar is a classic, Glorfindel, and has been a highly respected guide for ages in the education of Elflings about the more physical aspects of relationships," Erestor snapped.

Glorfindel groaned, and addressed poor Melpomaen, whose face had taken on the colour of a cooked lobster.

"Melpomaen, what your father is trying to tell you is that this book tells you how to make love. I was subjected to it as a young Elf as well, and while it contains 187 rules about courtship and the proper way to arrange roses in a vase, it does not teach you a single useful thing for a situation where you and the Elf of your choice are naked and between the sheets. I would recommend that you read 'Mirkwood Love Secrets', written by Lord Amaris. Whatever you want to know, you will find it in that wonderful book, and more besides! Even your ada and I found some information which..."

"You. Out of this library. Now."

The Bruinen in winter could not have been icier than Erestor's tone, and so Glorfindel hurried out of the library.

Erestor sighed, and once he was certain that Glorfindel had not only left, but also did not lurk outside the door, he turned to Melpomaen again, who, by now, was very close to crying.

"So, now that it is only you and I, you can tell me what is bothering you. Pray tell, Melpomaen – has this anything to do with Lord Celeborn?”

Melpomaen cringed. He cast his eyes downwards and stared at the toes of his soft shoes.

"Sort of," he mumbled, "in a way. There were some things that I needed to know.

"Things I could not have told you?"

Melpomaen rolled his eyes and threw his hands up.

"Please, ada! You cannot possibly expect me to ask you about these things!"

"I am an advisor," Erestor replied, slightly insulted, "I am asked all kind of things by all sorts of people. I do not see why you could not have sought my counsel. After all, I am your father."

"And that is exactly the reason why. You told Celeborn that you would feed him to the Wargs if he did not treat me kindly."

Erestor folded his arms over his chest and shook his head.

"This is absolutely not true. I never said I would feed him to the Wargs. Do you think me a brute? I said I would throw his liver out for my crows to feast on."

Melpomaen shuddered.

"Really, ada, I cannot see that there is a difference between the two threats."

"Oh, there is,” Erestor replied, “at least for the crows."

Melpomaen sighed.

"Oh ada, I know you mean well. But can you not understand that I love him?"

Erestor looked at his son. There could be no doubt that the young one was very serious – but how about Celeborn? Yes, at the moment, he seemed sincere, but who knew if this would last? Erestor loved his son dearly, he could not bear the thought of seeing him hurt and maybe cast aside once Celeborn’s mood changed.

Suddenly, Erestor remembered a night, many, many years ago…

 

~~~Flashback Erestor ~~~

 

"Correct me if I am wrong here, but has, by any chance, some great warrior pierced your heart with his broad sword? No pun intended, of course,” Celeborn said.

"I feel … a mild attraction," Erestor muttered.

"Of course you do. And I am an elderly Hobbit female who spends her time knitting."

"Ai – my lord, do not make fun of me!"

"Please, Erestor – there is no need to pretend. You care for him, he cares for you – so where is the problem?"

Erestor shrugged.

"My lord, how shall I put it – I do not feel the wish to boost Lord Glorfindel's collection. It is already the biggest in Middle earth, and I do not think there is any need to add another trophy."

Celeborn nodded.

"I see. You are worried that this is not a matter of the heart, but one of a hunter stalking his prey. "

"I should think so."

Celeborn climbed down from the tree, and brushed the small pieces of bark off of his leggings, carefully avoiding Glorfinkle who pecked after the lordly ankle with his beak.

"And you think him a rogue, one who takes life easy and likes to play with hearts, breaking them in the process and leaving a trail of weeping lovers behind him?"

Erestor winced, but nodded.

Celeborn put a hand on the advisor’s shoulder, and gave him a stern look.

"Erestor. Glorfindel may act the fool, but he is none. He saw the fall of his home and his family slaughtered, saw his lover die, fought the Balrog, died in the process and returned from the halls of Mandos. If anybody has earned the right to be a nuisance, it is him."

He paused a moment, then he asked:

"Does he call you silly names?"

"Yes."

"Plays pranks on you which leave you embarrassed?"

"Indeed."

"Gives you tasteless presents?"

"He does."

"Then, my friend, I can only give you one advice, and you would do well to heed it."

Erestor looked up at the majestic, wise Elven lord in anticipation.

"I will, my lord – and what is your advice?"

Celeborn squeezed his shoulder.

"Stock up on wild thyme oil – strawberry-scented will just not last."

 

~~~End of flashback ~~~

 

"Ada? Ada! Is anything wrong? Ada!"

Melpomaen tugged on Erestor’s sleeve, looking worried, for his father had been elsewhere in his thoughts for a while, and had not reacted to any of his questions.

Erestor shook his head.

"I am sorry, Melpomaen. I was lost in thought."

He reached out and stroked Melpomaen’s cheek.

"My apologies, Melpomaen. I should not have been so negative. After all I married a rogue, too, and one whose reputation was even more questionable than Celeborn's. And I have not regretted this decision for even a second as yet."

Relief showed on Melpomaen's face, and Erestor smiled.

"You know that I only worry because I love you, do you not?"

Melpomaen hugged Erestor and buried his face in the soft black velvet of his tunic.

"Oh ada, of course I know, and I love you too! I want to be as happy as you and Glorfindel!"

Erestor returned the embrace, pressing a kiss on Melpomaen's forehead. Then he took a step back and straightened his robes.

"Take all the time you need to study, Melpomaen. And maybe Fin is right, reading 'Mirkwood Love Secrets' could do no harm. I have to leave now, I need to pick something up at Miss Mauburz' shop."

"A present?" Melpomaen asked, and when Erestor winked, he laughed.

"It is a present then! Tell me what it is! Something for Estorel? Or Glorfindel?"

Erestor shook his head and arched an eyebrow, then he tapped on Melpomaen's nose.

"It is a present for a young Elf I just happen to be very fond of."

Melpomaen giggled, waved Erestor good-bye and disappeared behind the curtain which led to Elrond's secret library.

"It is on the fifth shelf from the left!" Erestor called after him.

Then he turned to leave, for Miss Mauburz’ shop would close soon. He really hoped that she still had that wonderful vanilla oil, for there was no way he would allow wild thyme anywhere near his son!

 

* * *

_"So this is why Erestor is called the 'Vanilla Elf' then," Lórien said, "silly me, I always thought it had something to do with his favourite dessert. But it is fascinating to see how much trouble love causes the Firstborn. Is there no such thing as a simple love with no problems or hindrances? Without century-long courtship, pain and sorrow?"_

_Vairë ran her hand over the lower half of the tapestry, as if caressing the soft fabric._

_"Oh yes, there is such a thing."_

_"There is?" Lórien asked with great interest._

_"Indeed. Elrond woke up on Yule morning, and…"_


	11. DAY 10: "Yule morning"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Elrond opened his eyes. It was still dark outside, and he could see the pale moon in the night sky. After such a long journey, he would have expected to sleep far into the day, but despite the early hour, he was wide awake.

They had returned in the middle of the night. Everybody had been fast asleep, except Erestor, who, as usual, had been sitting up late over his books, and came to welcome them. Maybe it was Elrond's nervousness about the whole matter, or just wishful thinking, but he felt that there had been a knowing expression in his old friend's eyes, and there might even have been approval as well.

Elrond decided that it made no sense to toss and turn, possibly waking his lover, so he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeper. Though – Elcallon would probably not have woken up even if Elrond had touched him or made a lot of noise. Any other Elf would have been wide awake by now, but his lover still slept peacefully. He lay on his side, head resting on his arm, and an affectionate smile showed up on Elrond's lips. He stood on Elcallon's side of the bed now, enjoying the pleasure of simply watching him.

Elcallon was taller than Elrond, but though he was also rather broad-shouldered, he did not have the physique of a warrior. He had learned how to use a bow in Breon, but had never undergone any battle training. Though Elrond was angry that such a basic right had been denied his lover, he also felt guilty for secretly being grateful that this had been the case. Elcallon had never fought, never seen war, never been to battle. He lacked the cynicism every warrior acquired over time, and this innocence was one of his most endearing character traits.

By Elven standards, Elcallon was very fair of face. But by Elrond's standards, he was perfect. Touching his skin was different from anything Elrond had experienced so far. There were no battle scars, no imperfections. Elrond remembered well how it had felt to run his hands down Gil's back - the body of the High King had been like a map of all the battles he had fought. Touching Elcallon, on the other hand, was like running one's hands over velvet.

"It is still dark. Why are you up?"

So he had awoken after all. The hazel eyes, previously half closed in reverie, were now focussed on Elrond.

"I am sorry. I was restless, but I did not want to wake you as well."

"If I can wake up to the sight of you, I do not mind."

Elcallon reached out, put his hand on Elrond's hip and pulled him closer. He rubbed his cheek on Elrond's thigh.

"Do you like watching me?" he asked, and Elrond nodded. "Why?"

Elrond ran his hand through Elcallon's hair and caressed his shoulder.

"I have to convince myself at times that you are real."

Elcallon pressed a kiss on Elrond's hip bone, then he gave the skin a slow, sensual lick.

"Does this feel real?"

Elrond shivered. Elcallon sucked in the tender skin, worrying it between his teeth. Though he was gentle, this would leave a mark. Did it matter? Nobody would see it but Elrond. What an amazing thought - marked by his lover, and nobody knowing but him. Meetings of the council would be very enjoyable in future.

"Yes, very real, thank you!"

Elcallon rolled onto his back. "Will you join me?"

Elrond bent down to kiss him. "I will, but I will run a bath first. I feel tense."

Elcallon nodded. "It has been a long journey."

Another kiss, then Elrond went into the adjoining bathing chamber. How he had missed his daily hot bath! On their journey, it had been swims in ice-cold rivers and lakes full of algae, and, on one especially memorable occasion, bathing in a make-shift bathtub which had previously served as a wine barrel. Elrond did not need luxury, but he enjoyed it. He opened the water feed and watched the large tub fill.

He listened to noises from the bedchamber, and could hear Elcallon humming a tune. Elcallon sang a lot. Elrond had taught him many songs on their travels, Elven tunes every Elfling knew, but to Elcallon, it had all been new and exciting. He was eager to learn – the history of his people, the language, the songs.

Elrond had learned that it was almost impossible to wake Elcallon once his head touched the pillow, while Elrond had spent countless nights tossing and turning, not finding any rest. His worries, kept at bay during the day, came to haunt him in the night.

Thought could not be switched off, nor could pain. And there were too many dark corners in his bedroom. Dark corners and memories. But not yesterday. Oh no, the very moment Elrond stepped into his bedchamber, he knew things had changed. The same furniture, the same tapestries, the same elaborately carved bed. But yet – it was all new. And this was his lover's doing.

'His lover'. Elrond plugged the stopper back in, then he stepped into the tub. Slowly, to accustom himself to the heat, he slipped into the water, and stretched out with a satisfied moan. This was pure bliss! It would have been even better, of course, if the Elf in the next room had joined him, but for now, Elrond was happy to lie there, soaking and musing.

He would have to hold a meeting with Erestor, Feronil and his other advisors. Glorfindel and Haldir would also report on the situation. And then there was Elladan. How had he managed in his father's absence? Without a doubt he had looked after Imladris well. At least it was still standing. Then there was Elrohir. He had to write to Arwen. Galadriel needed to be told of his return. And then there was the upcoming yearly market. The road needed to be repaired. Elrond, who had relaxed for only a moment, was already tensing up again, making a mental list of a hundred things he had to do.

"You are thinking again."

It was not an accusation, only a statement. Elrond looked up, startled, and a little annoyed with himself that he had not heard the other enter.

A smile, then Elcallon sat on the rim of the bathtub. Two hands cupped Elrond's face, and he was kissed. These kisses! They sent a pleasant tingle all through his body, making his hair stand on end and his toes curl.

"I cannot wait for you to show me my new home, Elrond. You have told me so much about Imladris and those who live here. I want to see the perfume-selling Orc and the biting Elf."

Elrond laughed.

"You do not know what you wish for!"

Then he grew serious again, and took Elcallon's hand in his. "Are you sure about it?"

"About what?"

"About – everything. You. Me. Us. Imladris."

"Of course I am serious."

He turned Elrond's hand, and pressed a kiss on the pulse in his wrist. Nobody had ever done this before. But he did. He did many things others had never dared, and he always did them without hesitation or doubt.

"Thank you. And I am sorry for the silly question. But I still cannot believe how lucky I am. I guess – well, I guess I am not used to it."

"So you have been brooding over the past again."

Elrond nodded, and his lover sighed.

"Compared to you, I know very little. I have not read all the books you have. The books I read were full of lies. I do not know which king won what battle. I know hardly a thing about Elven culture. I only recently learned that there is a Vala called Nemo in charge of the after life."

"Námo. His name is Námo."

Elrond could have bitten his tongue for interrupting his lover. Why did he always have to sound like a teacher?

"Ah yes, Námo. Now, Námo might look after us once we die, but as long as we live, we are the masters of our own fate. Every moment you waste brooding over things that you cannot change is a moment lost which will never return. You have spent far too many years in the company of shadows. You have denied yourself the light. It is time to finish one chapter of the book, Elrond, and start a new one."

He was right. Of course he was. Elrond had heard the same lecture from many over the centuries. But though he had tried to follow the advice, an underlying sadness had never left him. Even in the middle of the greatest joy, there would be a dark shadow. The birth of his sons had been a wonderful moment in Elrond's life, but it had also reminded him painfully of the loss of his own brother.

But now, for the first time in as long as he could remember, Elrond felt at peace. There was no need for him to be strong. He could be simply – himself.

"Elrond, what is the 'light procession'? You promised to tell me."

Another thing Elcallon often did: jump from one subject to another. At times, it was difficult for Elrond to follow his thoughts, but he had learned that, at least to Elcallon, these leaps made sense. So he did not comment on the change of subject, but answered the question.

"It is something we do on Yule Eve, Elcallon. I always watch the procession from my balcony. Everybody takes a lamp and walks to the Bruinen, singing. This is our way to ask the Valar to light our journey through life."

"That is a lovely custom. But tonight, you will not stand on the balcony and watch. You and I will take a lamp and join the procession. We will sing as loud and as off-key as possible, and later on, we will make love in front of your fireplace. Would you like that?"

Elrond did not answer, but the adoring smile on his face seemed to be all the response his lover needed. He was kissed once more, then held by the shoulders and doused. Elcallon ran out of the room, laughing loudly.

For an instant, Elrond considered jumping out of the bathtub and chasing Elcallon down, but instead he slipped back into the warm water.

'The Valar would probably be slightly offended if I told them that I have already found somebody else to light my journey,' he thought, and wriggled his toes.

Then he closed his eyes and listened to Elcallon singing.

* * *

_"How lovely! Happiness at last for Elrond! I am delighted!"  
Lórien had a big, doting smile on his face._

_'I wish somebody would look at me like that for a change,' Vairë thought, 'but I suppose the only way to achieve that here would be to turn myself into a bottle of Miruvor.'_

_"Did I say anything to displease you?" Lórien asked, a little worried by the frown on Vairë's face._

_She looked up, surprised, and shook her head._

_"Vairë, my apologies. I keep you from your work, demanding story after story. You must be tired. It might be best if I leave you alone now."_

_"Oh, no! Please stay, it is nice to have company. And I like telling tales. Unfortunately, I do not usually have an audience, so you are doing me a favour. Come, stop standing around, take a chair and sit by my side. You will see the tapestry better, and I will not have to strain my voice."_

_Lórien chuckled, then hurried to do as he was asked. This was a good thing, he decided – sitting here by Vairë's side, listening to her tales. She had a lovely voice, and her work was amazing. In fact, her voice was not the only lovely thing about her. To think that Námo had rejected such a lovely being all these millennia… at least in Lórien's eyes, Námo's reputation as "all knowing and all seeing" was overrated._

_"Are you ready?" she asked._

_"Very much so. Please go ahead."_

_"So, this is the last tale for today. King Thranduil was having a nightmare…"_


	12. DAY 11: "A Nightmare before Yule"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

His Royal Highness, Thranduil the Exceptional and Impressive, Most Splendid and Feared Ruler of Mirkwood, King by the Valar's Grace, Ruler of 6000 Years, Shining Star of Greenwood The Green, Hope of Mirkwood the Murky, Fairest of all Elven Lords, Light of the Dark Ages, Son of Oropher the magnificent, etc. etc. etc. was having a nightmare.

Thranduil was having a lot of nightmares lately. Throughout all the millennia, he had managed to sleep peacefully, despite Orcs, Wargs and spiders haunting his realm. But those times were over, for an evil far more dangerous than a Balrog had entered Mirkwood, and there was not a snowball's chance in Mordor that he would ever sleep peacefully again. For Orcs could be chased out of Mirkwood; Nonfindel, however, could not.

For Thranduil, who placed great importance on tradition, Yule was a serious business. Everything had to be done just so, exactly as his father Oropher had done it, and nobody would have dared to question this.

Nobody except Nonfindel, of course, whose first deed upon arrival in Mirkwood had been to remove the life-sized painting of Oropher from the guest-chambers he was allocated.

"I cannot work if I have to look at his sour face all day long," Nonfindel had declared. "I have no doubt that your father was a great Elf, King Thranduil, but judging from the quality of this painting, his influence on the creative arts must have been disastrous."

Secretly, Thranduil had to agree that the painting was dreadful. He had often wondered if this had been the artist's revenge for having to endure Oropher's moods during the portrait sessions. Indeed, a similarly unflattering picture of Oropher chasing spiders hung in his own bedchamber, and though Thranduil would never have admitted it, he blamed this painting for his lack of luck in matters of love.

So, Thranduil was having a nightmare. He dreamt that he entered the Great Cave where his council met, only to stare in disbelief at the change the place had undergone overnight. The sand on the ground had been covered with rose petals. Why rose petals? There were hardly any roses in Mirkwood, and even in his dreams, Thranduil insisted on being rational. Red and green velvet was draped artfully on the walls, hundreds of candles were burning, and much to Thranduil's horror, each one of these candles was decorated with a bright red bow.

But the most terrifying sight of all was Nonfindel, standing on a ladder, holding a palette and painting.

"What in the name of the Forest Spirits are you doing there? Have you gone insane?"

Upon hearing Thranduil's scream, Nonfindel turned around and gave him a big smile.

"It is perfect! Is it not? You must agree that the room was far too depressing before. No wonder you were always such a grump. Just wait and see – you will smile all day once I have finished this!"

With that he returned to his work, leaving Thranduil torn between bursting into tears and leaping at Nonfindel's throat. Instead of doing either, he stood and stared.

It was a monumental painting, covering the whole back wall of the Great Cave. It was a nightmare in pink and nude Elves. A lot of nude Elves. Nude Elves in trees, nude Elves in the grass, nude Elves bathing in a lake, nude Elves feeding each other grapes. Nude females were chasing each other through the forest. Nude females with big breasts. Very big breasts. Thranduil had never seen their like in real life, and he hoped by the Forest Spirits he never would. It was – overwhelming.

How peaceful his life had been before Nonfindel's arrival! Oh how Thranduil missed the days when all he had to worry about had been spiders and Orcs! And now – now Glorfindel's brother had turned the sober, venerable Great Cave into a Gondorian brothel!

Thranduil roared, then he ran to the ladder.

"Take this picture down!" he yelled, "Is it not enough that you have ruined my bathing chamber with those horrible pink tiles? Down with it, I say, now!"

"Peasant," Nonfindel snorted, not in the least impressed by Thranduil's outburst. "You are as much of an art critic as a cave troll. The picture stays where it is, you and your council could do with some inspiration."

Thranduil leapt at Nonfindel and tried to drag him off the ladder. The blond lost his balance and fell, pulling the huge canvas with him.

The King of Mirkwood found himself pressed into the ground by a painted female with giant breasts. He struggled desperately, and began to yell for help.

"Thranduil, wake up! All is well, I am here!"

The king started up in his bed. He was covered in cold sweat, and stared through glazed eyes at the picture opposite his bed.

Not that he would ever have admitted it, but he loved the painting. It was a portrait of him, in his festive robes. Those who had seen it said that the likeness was striking, though Thranduil thought it a very flattering work – he had never looked that glorious. Without a doubt, the artist had created his masterpiece.

The artist in question was currently kneeling beside Thranduil, holding him and trying to soothe and comfort the distressed Elf.

"You had a nightmare again, did you not?" Nonfindel asked, pushing tousled locks of hair out of Thranduil's face.  
"Oh, it was terrible!" Thranduil groaned. "You were there… and you painted… and… and…"

"Was it the nightmare where I braided your horse's mane with pink ribbons?" Nonfindel asked, but Thranduil shook his head.

"Then maybe the one where I replaced your hounds with six poodles?"

But Thranduil was clearly reluctant to share this especially traumatic nightmare with his lover, so Nonfindel decided to let the matter rest. Instead, he settled himself into the bed and drew Thranduil down to him, hugging him close and making sure his head came to rest on his shoulder.

"Whatever it was, it was not real. I would never get rid of your hounds, though poodles would be nicer. Are you feeling better?"

Thranduil muttered words to the effect that he was perfectly fine, had never felt better and did not need anybody to mother him, thank you very much.

Nonfindel rolled his eyes.

"Fine, you are feeling splendid. But maybe there is something I could do to improve this already excellent state of yours?"

Thranduil did not have to look up to know that there was a mischievous expression on Nonfindel's face.

"Maybe," he grumbled, "but it would have to be something – exceptional."

"Wonderful," Nonfindel said cheerfully, getting out of bed, "I shall be back in no time. I only have to get one of my brushes and… are you in a vanilla oil mood?"

Thranduil shook his head.

"Honey," came his reply, muffled by a cushion.

"So honey it is, my love."

With that, Nonfindel departed the bed chamber, leaving behind one happy Thranduil who thought that nightmares featuring poodles and nude frolicking females were a small price to pay for the bliss that was living with Nonfindel.

Not that he would have admitted it, of course.

* * *

_"Please remind me never to go to Mirkwood," Lórien said, "it sounds like a place that could make even a Vala lose his mind."_

_Vairë promised, and Lórien looked down at the tapestry._

_"There is something missing. Do you not know the tale to finish your work?"_

_Vairë looked at the empty fabric._

_"The outcome of this tale is not yet decided. It all depends on..."_

_Vairë was interrupted by yells and laughter, coming from Námo's Halls of Waiting. More noise ensued, and Lórien frowned._

_"What are they doing now? Wrecking the halls?"_

_Vairë listened._

_"I would say they are moving the furniture around. Or making a hole in the floor."_

_"Now, this is too much! I shall go over there immediately and see what they are up to!"_

_"Please do so. And make sure you do not get injured or drunk in the process."_

_Lórien, who was still standing beside her, arched an eyebrow._

_"That sounds almost as if you were worried for me. I find this most charming, my dear Vairë."_

_Vairë blushed and bowed her head over her work._

_"I enjoy your company, that is all. Go now, before they take the Halls of Waiting apart."_

_"I shall do as I am ordered, my lady," Lórien quipped, and headed for the door. And Vairë could have sworn that, for a very brief moment, she had felt a pair of warm, soft lips brush her neck._


	13. DAY 12: "Mustard and grapes"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 ficlets, leading through the 12 Days of Christmas - funny, sappy, melancholic tales. Best read with a hot cup of cacao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

It had been a good Yule Eve, Elrohir decided, despite his father's absence. The cook had outdone himself and prepared a meal worthy of a king. Glorfindel, with Estorel perched on his lap, had told the most hilarious tales, making everybody laugh. Even Erestor, holding tiny Lórindel, had smiled all evening long. The infant pulled faces which Glorfindel, the proud father, declared to be expressions of amusement. Erestor, however, told him that it was rather a case of constipation.

Elrohir had been surrounded by smiling, happy faces, by couples wishing each other a merry Yuletide, hugging and kissing. He had envied neither Glorfindel kissing Erestor, nor Orophin taking Elladan's hand and squeezing it while Lindir sang traditional tunes of a merry Yule. They all deserved happiness, and Elrohir had had a smile on his face all evening long.

But now, back in his chambers, this smile had disappeared. It was cold there, and lonely. One floor down, Orophin was probably unravelling Elladan's braids as they celebrated Yule Eve in their own, private way.

Like one who picked at a scab to see if the wound underneath had healed, Elrohir thought of Orophin as Elladan's husband to see if the thought still hurt. It did not. So he should be happy now, should he not?

Elrohir sighed and began to undress. He should really stop thinking of Námo and the strange dream he connected with him. He and everybody else in Middle-earth had probably been nothing but a brief distraction for the spiritual being. Elrohir did not blame him, for what use could a Vala have for a mere Elf?

A quick wash in the bathing chamber, then Elrohir slipped between the sheets. He listened to the many sounds which filled the Last Homely House despite the late hour: a door closing; the roof groaning under its load of heavy snow. These were comforting, familiar sounds, and so Elrohir, despite his melancholic mood, fell asleep very quickly.

He dreamt of a sunny meadow, laughing children and Námo, sitting on a stone and watching him, Elrohir, bathing in the Bruinen. How upset had he been back then with his uninvited watcher, and how he missed him now!

Elrohir woke up, and it took him a moment to adjust. What a realistic dream! Looking out of the window, he could see the thick curtain of snowflakes outside, in the first dim light of the early morning. But yet, he still had the scent of summer flowers in his nose, and the memory of Námo's smile.

Sighing, he pulled the covers up over his shoulder, and tried to fall asleep again, when he heard the unexpected but unmistakeable sound of somebody eating.

Had a snake slipped into his bed, Elrohir would not have sat up faster.

"These almond pastries are delicious," Námo said in a conversational tone, "especially if you dip them in the wine first. Have you ever tried this? Most interesting. I wonder what they would taste like with mustard."

Elrohir did not answer, just stared at Námo. He wore his usual hunter's garb, black leather and velvet, and was spread out elegantly on the other side of the bed, licking his long fingers clean. He smiled at Elrohir, showing two rows of white, sharp teeth.

"You do not happen to have any mustard here, do you?"

Elrohir pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Mustard?"

"Yes. But do not worry; I may try to find some tomorrow. I am curious to see how mustard would taste with grapes."

The thought of grapes with mustard alone made Elrohir's stomach turn, not to mention the shock of Námo's visit. The Vala put the plate aside, and with a movement faster than Elrohir's eyes could catch, he rolled onto the young Elf, pressing him down into the mattress.

"I would have expected more enthusiasm about my return, young one. Would you rather I left again?"

Elrohir closed his eyes for a moment. Námo was a very solid weight, and the Vala was tugging playfully on Elrohir's lobe with his teeth.

"Your appearances have never hurt, but your departures did. I am not a toy, Námo, here for you to play with and throw away the next day."

Námo frowned.

"Who is speaking of departures? I have no intention of leaving."

Elrohir's eyes became wide like saucers.

"No?"

Námo shook his head, then he slowly licked Elrohir's neck, leaving a wet trail from his collarbone to his ear.

"Eru in his eternal wisdom has decided that it is better that I cause confusion among the Firstborn than among the Vala for the time being. And who am I to argue with Eru? I hope you do not mind if I stay here."

Elrohir would have loved to answer, but Námo kissed him, so he could not speak. He was too busy exploring his lover's mouth and trying to get some air in-between times. Námo was not one of the sweet, gentle lovers Elrohir was used to. He was demanding in his love, and there was no doubt about who led this encounter. But Elrohir was more than happy to follow him. The feeling of soft leather on his skin almost drove him insane, and he groaned with disappointment when Námo rolled off him, a wicked grin on his face.

"You do not seem to mind, I see."

"I have dreamt of this," Elrohir whispered.

"You know the saying: be careful what you wish for," the Vala chuckled, raking his fingernails over Elrohir's groin. The young Elf shuddered.

"I am pleased, young one, especially as I have not come alone."

Námo clapped his hands and a large basket appeared on the bed. Elrohir jumped, and moved away from it when he realised that the basket was moving.

Námo rolled his eyes.

"No, I have not brought snakes or dragons with me, young one. Come and see for yourself."

Elrohir swallowed hard, but he obeyed.

It was a large wicker basket, and the wriggling contents were covered with a blanket of dark red velvet. Elrohir looked to Námo, who gave him an encouraging smile. So the young Elf reached out, swallowed hard and pulled the cover away.

Elrohir was prepared for snakes, Wargs or even puppies, but not for the two most beautiful babies he had ever seen. Granted, his experience of Elflings was limited, but these children were perfect. Tiny fists pressed against their mouths, the little boys slept peacefully. Soft black hair covered their heads, and Elrohir was fascinated by the tiny, leaf-shaped ears.

He reached out to touch the Elfling closest to him, whose slate eyes were half covered in reverie, but hesitated.

"This is Elvoron," Námo explained, "the older of the twins. He will have the body of a warrior, the hands of an artist and the attention span of a butterfly. Do touch him; he will not bite you - yet. He has no teeth."

Elrohir rested his hand on the Elfling's tummy, and was amazed at how large it looked against the tiny body. Elvoron did not move, but his brother began to stir, and opened his eyes fully. Tiny hands began to reach out, and the Elfling gave a mewling sound.

Elrohir frowned. The eyes of the child looked veiled, as if hidden behind a curtain.

"They are twins, born within the same day, Elrohir," Námo explained. "He is the younger one, called Ellón, for the darkness is always with him."

"What do you mean by that?"

Námo sighed.

"His fëa was undecided whether to re-enter this world or not. There were complications, and when he finally was born, his eyes could not see."

Elrohir stared at Námo in horror.

"He is blind? This is terrible! How will he manage in life?"

Námo looked down at Ellón, and stroked the fine, dark hair on his head. Immediately, the Elfling's head turned to him.

"The Firstborn are full of miracles. He will learn to use his ears and nose better than any other, and become a skilled fighter and feared warrior. But there are limits to what he can do, and so his heart is often full of shadows."

Ellón had finally found Elrohir's hand and was now clinging to his index finger with remarkable strength. Then he let go and tiny arms reached out for Elrohir, a silent demand to be picked up and cuddled.

"It will be difficult for his parents to raise him," Elrohir said.

"We will do remarkably well," Námo answered.

Elrohir stared at Námo.

Then he stared at the Elflings.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, and the enormity of Námo's words began to sink in. He felt like running, screaming, crying, laughing, all at the same time. But in the end, Elrohir followed his heart.

He reached out and took his son in his arms.

* * *

_"Finished," Vairë said to herself, cutting off the red thread she had used to embroider the cover in the twins' basket._

_She began to put her tools away. It had been a good day's work, and sitting with Lórien had been delightful. Maybe she should do this more often?_

_Lórien entered. One of his braids had come loose, his shirt was unbuttoned and he had a big grin on his face. Under his arm, he carried a book and a bottle. It was very obvious that the Master of Dreams had had his fair share of alcohol, for he walked with the determination of one who had to will himself not to fall down._

_Vairë arched an eyebrow._

_"I see that your attempts to tell Amaris and Gil-galad to behave in a more dignified manner have been most successful."_

_Lórien giggled._

_"Oh, my sweet, dear Vairë, there are many things we can learn from the Firstborn! Did you know that Yule punch tastes much better if you drink it through a straw?"_

_He had reached Vairë now, and flopped down in the seat next to her. Without further ado, he put his head on her shoulder, and snuggled up to her. Vairë's first instinct had been to move away, but it was actually quite nice to have him this close, even if there was a distinct scent of Dwarven liquor around him._

_"So I take it that you did not end the festivities, but participated in them instead," she stated._

_Lórien nodded._

_"It would have been impolite to turn down Amaris' offer of this very special 4329 2nd ager from Mirkwood. A potent wine, my dear, most powerful! And then Gil-galad invited me to join in one of their drinking games. Delightful!"_

_"And you won?" she asked._

_Lórien nodded enthusiastically and showed her the bottle._

_"Indeed! I won a bottle of the special 4329 2nd ager!"_

_"I see. And you won the book as well?"_

_Lórien blushed, and Vairë could see that he was not sure whether to show her the book or not. Finally, he came to a decision, and gave her the book._

_"It is a present for you."_

_She read the title._

_"Pray tell, dear Lórien - not that I do not appreciate your kind intentions, but why are you giving me 'Mirkwood Love Secrets, Vol. I'?"_

_Lórien snuggled even closer to her._

_"I thought - well, I thought maybe you are getting tired of weaving tapestries, and maybe, after we spend some more time with each other, we might... you know..."_

_Vairë was speechless. She turned the pages, and her eyebrows almost reached her hairline. She turned the book, not sure of how to look at a picture. In the end, it did not really matter, though - it looked rather impossible to copy in any case._

_"Position # 17 looks rather complicated," she said._

_Lórien took her hand and pressed a kiss on her wrist._

_"Vairë, the only position I want from you is position # 1 in your heart. I have been a fool for so many years - you are sweet, kind, witty and can even interest me in tapestries. Will you be my queen, Vairë? I am aware that I am not half as exciting as tapestries, but I am just as comfortable to lie on. What do you say?"_

_Vairë considered it for a moment. Then she got up, took Lórien's hand and tucked the book under her arm._

_"I say let us go and see whether we can manage position #2."_

_"My sweet queen, your wish is my command."_

_Vairë batted her lashes and smiled sweetly._

_"Good to know, my dear - this attitude will be very helpful once we get to position #7."_

_Then she ran away, laughing, and Lórien followed her, a happy smile on his face._


End file.
